


cosmic dust never settles

by realfakedoors



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ...Maybe?, Allura & Lance (Voltron) are Siblings, Altea (Voltron), Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Prince Lance (Voltron), Alternate Timelines, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Because I DO WHAT I WANT, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blue Paladin Allura (Voltron), Castleship Pilot Lance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Gen, Genderfluid Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) is Doing His Best, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance is salty but loves his sister so, Langst, Language Barrier, Long-haired Lance, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Multi, No 10000 Year Sleep, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Protective Siblings, Protectiveness, Red Paladin Keith (Voltron), Sassy Pidge | Katie Holt, Shiro escapes at the same time Altea is destroyed, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Supportive Coran (Voltron), Swearing, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 01:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 83,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realfakedoors/pseuds/realfakedoors
Summary: "He spun away, unable to face his sister or her lion.Herlion. Not his.Blue was never his. Maybe that’s why he’d been robbed of her, because he was big-headed enough to think that hewouldtake Blaytz’s place just because hewantedto, just because he'd prepared his whole life for the title of Blue Paladin did not mean he was deserving of it; that he believed he was entitled to her at all was his downfall. That’s not how Voltron works. Narcissists don’t become paladins.Upstanding, humble,worthypeople become paladins. People like his sister, and his father. Not people like Lance."—The war did not start 10,000 years ago.It's been ten years, technically, but the conflict has been raging almost as long as Lance has been alive. With Altea destroyed and the former paladins along with it, Lance is ready to bare the responsibility he's been preparing for his whole life. But then, fate had different plans, his life force bonded to the Voltron Lions instead of his sister's, and Lance without the right to pilot any of them. Throw in some warfare, a cute Galra-hybrid who is piloting his Father's lion, some aliens that call themselves 'human', lots of pining, and well...





	1. The Blue Paladin

**Author's Note:**

> welcome, readers, to yet another galtean AU! I know, I know, _another one?_ well, yes, sorry. I love Altean lance so much, and this "role swap" between him and allura has interested me for awhile. fun, goofy, ~~but insecure~~ lance overseeing the team as the pilot of the castle of lions, while responsible, dignified ~~and worried big sister~~ allura pilots the blue lion? well, sign me the fuck up, because I've started and NO ONE CAN STOP ME.
> 
> also, lance has long-hair... largely in part because he's based off [**_this_**](https://connethie.tumblr.com/post/177362989551/heres-my-full-piece-for-the-alteanlancezine-so) beautiful fucking interpretation of altean lance by [conniethie on tumblr](https://connethie.tumblr.com). (if you've read my other voltron fic, a cinderellance AU ['star-crossed'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965069/chapters/37236314), this look will definitely be familiar! I like what I like, what can I say? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)
> 
> please, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Lance is late for everything.

Lance was late.

 _Again_.

“‘Llura! Ahhh, I’m so sorry!” He burst through the doors that opened to the gardens, welcomed by a burst of warm summertime air, fragrant with the aroma of juniberries and candra lilies. Lance took in a big breath, his blue eyes bright as he strode up to his sister, trying to slow his racing heart.

The Princess was seated at the head of the delegation table that Coran had prepared, cozied up beneath the estrelan ivy trellises that formed a sort of archway, bright pink and white plumes of flowers dangling with Altea’s gravity. Her face was twisted into a disapproving pout, but she nevertheless gestured for Lance to take his rightful place in the seat beside her. There was a tea service already prepared for the occasion… even if he had not been. His lessons with the tutors had run over, so it’s not like it was even his fault!

“It’s alright, Brother.” She sighed, a smile betraying her show of annoyance while he sat. Lance returned the expression and she cleared her throat. “Alright then. We’ve got lots to discuss today, so thank you all for coming. We need to plan for a ginormous battle next quintant and the there’s lots of battle strategies to discuss! Voltron is ready to be formed and sooo… we can blow up anything that gets in the way.”

Lance tried his very best to suppress the giggles that threatened to burst from his lips, and much to his pride, he succeeded. Instead, he schooled expression face into his most serious “diplomat face.” Allura grinned in approval.

“I agree, Sister! My apologies to the Council for being late. I get it from Mother.”

Satisfied with his apology, Allura straightened in her seat and took a steady sip from her cup before continuing. “Very well, your tardiness will be forgiven… _this time_. Now, to business — Yeqici, tell me, have you made contact with the Hoop Nebula colony?”

The patio furniture was designed in the quintessential Altean style – curving lines of white and silver, designed for aesthetic pleasure moreso than comfort or utility. Lance’s seat was boosted by two pillows; Allura needed only one. Across from Lance and to Allura’s left, two more seats were occupied by Yeqici of the Duflax and Iris of the Bruuv.

Behind _them_ , overseeing the diplomatic summit, stood one Coran Smythe.

His arms moved imperceptibly in time with Yeqici’s little body, Allura’s favorite plushie.

“ _Why yes, Princess! We did get word from the leader of the colony.”_ Allura and Lance both bubbled with laughter, the advisor’s voice about four pitches above normal in something that was cloyingly effeminate. They hooted and hollered, all while the man remained impassive, any flicker of a smile expertly hidden by his moustache. It made him both a master ventriloquist, and the perfect person to help “attend to” their Council guests.

“ _The Queen and King send their thanks and appreciate your kind and welcoming mediation skills in resolving the conflict at the border — “_

“Wait, what’s _medi-ation_?” Lance scrunched his nose in confusion, the word heavy and troublesome on his tongue.

Allura crossed her arms and gave him a practiced glare-smile that Lance had affectionately dubbed the _glarllua_ , because it was something that only she could pull off so well.

“Don’t interrupt our guests, Lance. That’s not very proper of you.”

“W-Well,” he defended, lower-lip jutting out. “I can’t be proper if I don’ know what the words they’re using _means_.”

Allura sighed and flipped her braided pale hair over her shoulder. “Well maybe you’re not enough of a _grown-up_ to take part in the Council, then!”

“Wah — you can’t do that! I’m just as much a part of the Council as you!”

Allura pointed her nose high in the air. “I can _so_ do that, _I’m_ the Princess and _you’re_ just a Vanguard.”

“Princess Allura!” Coran’s voice admonished in disappointment, and in his haste to get around the table to comfort a misty-eyed Prince Lance, he knocked the diplomats out of their seats.

The Princess launched out of her seat to recover the fallen plushies. “ _Yeqici_! Ugh, Lance! This is all _your_ fault!”

“W-well,” Lance managed a fierce glare despite the tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. “How am I ever gon-gonna learn if I can’t ask q-questions?! I w-was just asking _one_ question!”

The girl’s voice was pure fury. “If you had just been _on time_ for once then _maybe_ — ”

“Alright, that’s enough” the advisor spoke as firmly, yet calmly, while hoisting the little prince into his arms, letting Lance weep into his shoulder. “Princess, you know your brother was coming from his lessons. Yours run over just as often, so don’t punish him for something outside of his control.”

“But _Coran_ — ”

The advisor held up a hand, the other arm preoccupied supporting Lance’s weight. He was still crying, al biet more softly, and clinging to Coran like a flimmaby waxlen that lost its herd. “No _but’s_ , Princess. I know you’re trying to practice your diplomacy, but there’s no need to make your brother upset in doing so. I am disappointed that you would use your titles so disparagingly. You know better than that.”

Privately, Coran thought to himself how this was most certainly the hardest parts of his job. Scolding. It was almost physically painful for the Altean advisor, knowing he was the cause of those crystal tears that sparkled at the corners of the young Princess’s wide, aqua-lilac eyes that she’d inherited from her mother, but he knew that this was important. Later – hopefully _much_ later — endless opponents would try to get under her skin, nettle their way through her crafted defenses, and she had to be prepared to face the consequences of her actions. Whether she was eight or eighty.

So, while every instinct was telling him to lean down and smooth back the Princess’s hair, let her know that it’s okay to make mistakes and that everything will be okay, Coran didn’t. She _has_ to learn. He knows that. Allura knows that. Heck, even _Lance_ knows that. Instead, patiently, Coran ran a soothing hand up and down the little prince’s back and watched as the young princess sucked in a few big breaths of air. Little Allura did not cry often, as she always told it wasn’t becoming sort of behavior for a Princess, so she’d often resorted to anger when she was upset.

Lance, meanwhile, was only four and had always been a little more sensitive than his big sister. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been as pressured to master impassivity like Allura, but it was still a skill the tutors and nannies had made sure to start instilling at a young age.

For now, he was just sniffling into Coran’s shoulder, while the princess let out the intentional inhales through her nose with practiced poise.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Brother.” Her voice was small, but steady. “That was unkind of me. I didn’t mean it.”

Lance perked up at the sound of his sister’s apology, still red-faced. He drew away from Coran’s shoulder and turned to look down at her. “...It’s ‘kay... Interrupting is wrong too so… I’m sorry, too.”

“Now, that’s better, isn’t it?” Coran asked rhetorically, his mustache dancing as he smiled at the resolution, tousling Lance’s hair. The Prince squeaked in protest and pushed the man’s hands away.

“Noo, Coran _stooooop_!” Lance whined, a pitch he had perfected since the moment he could talk. “You’re gonna tangle it and I _hate_ when they have to brush it out.”

Lance let out a little ‘oof’ as the advisor sat him down on top of the pillow pile in his chair. With a smile, Allura took back her seat at the head of the table and took her baby brother’s hand.

“Your hair is getting awfully long, isn’t it?” A wicked gleam flashed in her eye. “Why don’t you let _me_ cut it?”

Lance paled and grabbed for the ends of his white hair protectively. In just the right light, the palest afterthought blue could be seen, almost as a shimmer through the tresses, much like Allura’s could catch a warm flicker of pink at certain times. To say it was even a tint might be too strong a word, but that’s the best way Lance could think to describe it.

He was, for the record, growing out his hair intentionally. It wasn’t nearly as long as Allura’s, her’s already dancing down the middle of her back, and his had only just made it a little past his shoulders.

Coran twirled the ends of his moustache contemplatively. “Better not have your sister cut it, but it is getting a little long, my boy. I’m sure one of your Mother’s attendants would —“

“No!” He protested, probably louder than he should have for such a small audience. “I want it to be long,” she cast a shy gaze at his sister. “Like your’s and Mom’s.”

“Aww,” cooed his big sister, squeezing his fingers. Lance pulled a face. “I bet it would look good long, your hair has always been more on the fine side, like Father’s. Does Mother know? She would think that’s sweet.”

Lance shook his head from side to side only to pause halfway through the motion. His big eyes grew even wider, looking at the princess with uncertainty. “Oh, ‘Llura, what about your Council meeting? Do you want to finish?”

The older sibling frowned down at her tea setting, now cold, and the two “diplomats” she had propped back up in their chairs. If she were being honest, no, she wasn’t really in the mood to play war right now. She wanted to try braiding her baby brother’s long hair now that she’d noticed the length of it, or run around trying to catch flan-bil-diplors that might be building little colonies between the stones and the grass, or maybe just play tag or hide-and-seek with Coran and Lance and Nan-Nan.

Yet, when she sighed and readjusted in her seat, taking her hand back from Lance’s, she smiled wryly down at her teacup before taking a sip. “Yes, we should finish. It would be rude since our guests have come all this way. We need to discuss war strategy stuff, so no skipping on these big meetings!”

That earned her one of Lance’s infamous laughs, the one that could cause even some of the most stone-faced guard’s lips to twitch. Allura beamed, and Coran watched proudly on as the siblings carried on their pseudo-summit with all the dignity an eight and a four year old could.

 

* * *

 

Lance was late, again.

_Quiznak._

Leave it to him and his dumb self to lose track of time on the _literal most important_ day ever. This is what people would call _the_ day, not just _a_ day. This was _the_ day, the day that would be change the course of history across the known universe, the day of The Voltron Coalition Peace Summit, where Emperor Zarkon will finally agree to the peace conditions set forth by Father, Blaytz, and the others. All of the insurgencies, all of the bloodshed and loss, all of the animosity that had grown between the paladins in the past 10 decaphoebs — it will all finally be put to rest.

By this time tomorrow, the conflict would be officially over.

And Lance was about to quiznaking _miss_ it.

...Maybe.

They were supposed to leave a varga before the ceremony was set to begin. It would only take a few dobosh to get there once they were in their transport vessel, but they had planned to arrive so they could land and greet properly, do all the diplomatic nonsense that bored the ruggle out of him. Well, a varga-out has come and gone, and now they had exactly ten dobosh to even _get there_ , let alone make any sort of appearance that wasn’t going to be a rushed and half-thought out.

Needless to say, the prince was in an all out _sprint_ across the castle, keeping a worried eye out in search of an unmistakable mop of white hair, the benign fury that was his big sister, certain that he was going to get nothing but grief about this later. Neither Coran nor Allura had been in the hangar where he’d been expecting them, only for him to have remembered, _oh no_ , they were to meet at the bridge and call down to Altea before leaving.

Thank the stars they could wormhole if they combined their quintessence — the castle usually would only respond to their Father, to whom the life force of the Voltron Lions and the Castle of Lions was bound — but together, when both siblings focused, they could override the security measure.

If Allura didn’t strictly _need_ him to get home, Lance had no doubt she would have left exactly 61 dobosh early, so she could arrive with the whole promised varga to do her Princess-y thing.

The bridge was in sight, and he sent a quick prayer to Oriande that Allura wasn’t about to smack the quiznak out of him.

“‘Llura! Ahhh, I’m so sorry!” He burst through the doors that opened to the bridge, the lights bright and shining beneath the midday sunshine out the windows overlooking Arus, cooled by the dim backlight of the many luminescent panels. His voice was hoarse from the repeated burn of Arus’s stupid air, sharp against his lungs, and he bent over at the middle to try to regain his composure. The atmosphere here was much less satisfying — too thin and dry — compared to Altea’s, which was a soothing, rich concentration of oxygen.

The Princess was standing at the front of the control panels that Coran usually manned, not even bothering to turn around at the sound of his entrance, arms crossed over her chest. “Father and Mother are going to be —"

“ _I know_ ,” he hissed, leaping over the front pilot’s chair and standing beside his sister. She was wearing her preferred ceremonial robes, hair cascading in big, flattering curls down her back. Like this, she looked every part her title of Princess, and the splitting image of their mother.

In an attempt to kickstart the peace talks, Lance decided to try his hand at some diplomacy for the sake of his own skin.

He cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

She smiled, but her eyes were focused on the screen in front of them.

“Thanks,” she said curtly a few ticks later, once she finished sending their transmission signal off to Altea over the encrypted channel Father had instructed them to use for all communications while on Arus.

While the signal went out, the two stood quietly for a moment as they anticipated Father or perhaps Trigel to answer. When it continued to ping for several ticks, Lance let his gaze travel to the only other interesting screen at the control panel, grimacing when he spotted a familiar, dark and impressive structure locked safely away in one of the hangars.

“Black deserved better,” he muttered, not really meaning to vocalize the thought as it crossed him.

Allura looked from him to the screen, however, her own brow knit with a hint of remorse. “I believe she knows that, considering she left Daibazaal of her own volition once she came to terms with... Had she not left and alerted Father, who knows what might have happened… one Lion in _his_ power is a terrible thought, let alone all of them.”

“Yeah. A good thing she got out of there.” Lance’s throat felt dry. Stupid Arusian air.

The Princess gave her brother a proper once over for the first time, brow raised. “Oh, well, don’t you look smart? I always liked your Vanguard fineries. They suit you.”

Lance grinned and slung an arm over her shoulders. “Aw, sis, you _must_ be in a good mood today.”

“You know I’m not,” she said with a nudge to his ribs. Allura sighed and crossed her arms tighter over her her chest. “I’m just trying to distract myself. So much depends on today going well.”

Teasing aside, Lance _did_ like his Vanguard regalia. A fitted white shirt and pants, both minimal in design but for the signature ‘v’, emblematic of Voltron, in a pale gold, right across his chest. It was nothing like the bold yellow that brightly fashioned the Yellow Lion; this was a barely-there ray of sunshine, pastel and soft, appearing, in addition to the symbol on his torso, as a sash tied loosely over his hips, and lining the hems of his collar and intricate gloves that spread over the back of his hand but left the palm exposed, hooking around his middle finger like a ring. A pristine white cape, the color of the undisturbed snow that capped Altea’s mountains, sat comfortably over his shoulders and fell in a cascade of rich fabric down to the back of his knees. It was clasped asymmetrically over his chest, held in place just above his heart by a large, pale yellow crest, containing that same ‘v’ that symbolized so much more than just a super weapon, the inlaid gold shining in the light on occasion. His long tresses — _now just as long as his sister’s, thank you very much_ — were tied off into a smooth, low ponytail with a navy ribbon that his mother picked out the last time he got fitted for the robes, claiming that it brought out the frosty undertones of his hair.

“Anyways,” said the princess, shaking her head and smiling slyly in his direction. “Speaking of your Vanguard uniform, do you think you’ll keep to wearing them, or do you think you’ll switch Blaytz’s armor when the time comes?”

Rolling his eyes, Lance untangled his arm from her and turned to lean against the control panel. What was taking them so long to answer? At this rate they really _were_ going to be late.

“You know as well as I do that _that_ is not a certainty.”

“Yes,” Allura put a hand on her hip, bemused. “But I also know you’ve been preparing for this since the moment you could start flying. You’re obviously drawn to her, and I would bet my life she’s drawn to you, too. Blue will choose you.”

Lance felt himself pink a little and shrugged. “Maybe.”

It was sort of true — Lance had wanted to be a paladin of Voltron for as long as he could remember. The first generation of paladins started their adventures defending the universe as Voltron the fifteen decaphoebs before he was born, and now, seventeen decaphoebs later, the last ten of which were spent under wartime conditions, Lance’s most private and narcissistic desire was exactly as Allura suggested: to pilot the Blue Lion.

Blaytz had been grooming him for the task for a long time — intentionally or not, Lance wasn’t sure — but the Blue Paladin seemed confident that Lance was going to be a crucial part of Voltron’s future and was always willing to answer his questions or just let him hang around him and Blue whenever Voltron’s right supporting leg visited Altea. On Lance’s sixth birthday, Blaytz even let him sit in his lap in the cockpit and “steer” Blue. Of course, there hadn’t been any metaphysical, quintessence-based connection between himself and the Lion so it’s not like he was _actually_ in control, but for a six-decaphoeb old, it was still a pretty big deal.

Lance had sort of selfishly let himself slip into accepting the role, too, just as his big sister had slowly grown into the role of Queen to-be. She was the Heir and would be the Overseer, he was the Vanguard; she was the future Queen, he was the future Blue Paladin.

That’s how it had been for a long time, and the Prince had no complaints.

“Ah, here they are,” Allura finally said with a sigh, and Lance too let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The screen flashed twice before an image filled the screen.

He needed more than a few ticks to make sense of what he was seeing, because, it wasn’t Father or Trigel — it wasn’t anyone. They’d been calling into the channel that would be received on any of the Altean devices with access to their encrypted channel, so even Mother should have seen their call come in. Lance had been expecting to see an awkward image of Father, holding his tablet at a terrible angle that was too-close to his face like every old person, and by extension giving himself and Allura a good and proper look right up his nose, but there was no glittering backdrop of the Citadel or familiar faces leaning into frame to chastise him for making his sister late for something so important. Something must have gone wrong because…

“Did we get bounced to a satellite?” Lance wondered aloud, already dragging some settings around to get a better sense of what was going on and — ah, yes. He’d turned the camera on the orbiting satellite around, and they were indeed looking down at Altea. Three concentric Vlexagane-crafted rings, collectively referred to as _Sidus_ , that were structurally stable only on account of the massive amounts of quintessence used to counterpoise the materials, all shined up at them in brilliant white against the gaseous, opaque blue-lavender tint of their home’s atmosphere.

“Weird. Why’d it send us outside the _Sidus_?”

His sister bit her lip and took the screen from him, dismissing the annoyed noise he made as she did so. After adjusting the optics to get the widest view of the planet, her lips grew thin. “That _is_ strange… I wonder, should we try again, or just head out? I’m afraid if we wait much longer we won’t make it in time.” Pausing, she sent him a pointed look. “After all, we’re _already_ cutting it rather close.”

Lance chose to ignore in favor of a beeping coming in from the control panel, it was a —

“A distress beacon?” Allura’s voice was immediately alert, and Lance took a few steps back to give her room to do her thing. She was much more familiar with the controls of the castleship than Lance had ever been, a fact that was hardly relevant to their four year age difference. Where the Prince, the younger, the Vanguard, had been readying himself to one day be Blaytz’s replacement, hopeful to be worthy of title Blue Paladin, the Princess, the older, the Heir to the Throne, Overseer to the Castle, had always been conditioned with the interest of taking over once Father was too old, which included operating the castle at both the functional and the quintessential spiritual levels. As such, Lance had no problem deferring to her when it came to most things castleship-related, and he did his best to stay out of Allura’s way. The screen with Altea on it was still up, so he found himself watching the visual feed involuntarily while listening to the light beeps and clipped notes of his sister’s fingers running over panels.

After about a dobosh, Coran arrived with a deep frown, his tired face lined with concern. “I heard the beacon from down near the elevator. What’s going on?”

“That’s what we’re, oh — _what the…? Allura! Look!_ ” Lance had waved Coran forward with a hand, eyes trained to the screen, trying to understand what exactly he was seeing.

A beam of light shot straight from the planets axis, connecting with one of the gargantuan rings encircling the planet. They watched in confusion, and admittedly, fear, as the faintly purple ray made contact with the inner ring of _Sidus_ and the whole structure seeped with the color. It looked like...

“ _Druids_?” Lance choked, and he looked over to Allura who was watching with a similar horrified expression. “No, no, that can’t be — what does that mean?”

“ _Wait!_ ” Allura’s hand flew up to stop him. “The beacon has come through, I’m putting it up. It’s planetside, so…”

Princess, Prince and advisor waited with baited breath as the main panel flickered to life, and the whole castle began echoing with the horrible mess of feedback from the other end. Static and a strange drilling sound was all that could be heard over a pitch black screen, and they all winced when the image finally changed.

A communicator of some kind, hand held by the looks of it, had been knocked upside down with the receiving microphone pressed into the ground, but the moment it was flipped up properly Lance felt his blood run cold, unable to understand what he was seeing.

It was… the Citadel, great curving silver walls accented in the royal colors, but those very walls were patterned by crimson, green and blue shades of blood. People were screaming and from where their transmission had been knocked aside, still on the ground, they watched as boots and shoes and heels and bare feet, from all walks of life in every corner of the universe, ran in what could only be described as terror.

“What in the world...” Coran’s mouth was hanging open.

“A-Ah!” cried a voice on the other end, and the Princess and Coran’s attention was glued to the screen. The Prince looked at his sister, her hands were shaking and they were cupping her mouth in the most stricken look Lance has ever seen, the dark undertone of her skin completely paled in abject fear.

“That — was _that_ …?” She scarcely breathed the words when the screen finally, _finally_ changed. Though when they saw the face on the other end, Lance almost wished the communicator had stayed face down.

_Father._

Blood painted one side of his face, some sort of cut that ran over his forehead and through his eyebrow, forcing him to awkwardly wink-blink at the screen. His face was severe, drawn in anger and urgency.

“Allura? Sweetheart, is that you?”

She just shook her head back and forth, unable to form words, backing away from the screen in utter panic. In all the states of emotion Lance had seen his sister in before, this was not only entirely new, but it was extremely alarming.

“Father,” Lance responded, so calm he actually sounded a little threatening. “It’s us. We’re here with Coran. What is happening?”

The King’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and the Citadel rumbled around him, dust and ash flying into his face as he struggled to keep himself standing.

“Trap, it was a trap,” he panted. “Lance, please, I need you and your sister to open a wormhole,”

“We’ll be right there,” Lance nodded firmly, feeling very much the part of Vanguard at the moment. His title may be almost entirely for appearances, but it didn’t grant him the equivalent ranking of Commander for nothing. Pained as he wanted to be in this moment with the terror pooling in his gut, his jaw was tight and his eyes were sharp.

Instead, however, the King’s own eyes widened and he choked out a terrible cough. None of them missed the light splatter of blood that landed on one corner of the camera.

“No, no — my son, do not. Do _not_ come to us, do you understand? _That is an order_. All of you are to remain on Arus. We need a wormhole for the Blue Lion, she sensed Blaytz was in danger and came, on her own and — that doesn’t matter. Blaytz is dead.”

The world tilted ever-so-slightly, and for just one tick, everything slowed to a stop. The screaming and distress rang hollow, the Citadel did not tremble like a faultline was waiting to swallow it whole, no breath was uttered, no sound, no sight, no life.

 _Blaytz is dead_.

Faster than a collapsing star, horrible, wretched sobs broke through the Princess and tears were pouring down her face. “ _No!_ Father, you can’t mean  _— !_ ”

“Make a wormhole. Blue will come to you if you call for her. She cannot under any circumstances fall into the Galra’s hands, do you understand?”

The statement was clearly directed to the Prince, the implied succession of the title of Blue Paladin not nearly as warming and proud as he thought it would be.

“But what about _you_?” Lance demanded, refusing to fall through the pit forming in his stomach.

“Coran,” Alfor glared into the camera, ignoring the Prince’s question entirely. “Take care of them for me. Thank you for everything you’ve done for my family.”

The Princess, tears and all, threw her hands down on the panel in a fit of fury. “Father, _please_ , don’t do this. You mustn’t — we can’t, _I can’t — !_ ”

Unfortunately, Lance, Allura and Coran knew from where the Princess got her stubbornness. The King merely smiled weakly. “I love you both, and I’m so proud of you…”

 _Beep_.

The feed cut out.

“I-It’s, I — something’s — _no no no_ , it _can’t no NO_ —" her voice began as a whisper, growing louder and more panicked with each cadence. Lance was already beginning to reach out to console her when she scrambled past him, almost throwing herself on top of the main dashboard and clawing at the control panels and communication frequencies, clutching to last ditch attempts like a drowning man clutching for their last breaths.

“Allura, _Allura_ listen to me!” Lance held her shoulders, but she wasn’t, she wasn’t listening. She was focused and angry, _furious_ , trying to do something, reach someone else, the Coalition Headquarters or another nearby ally, but the Prince knew that this was not the time for that.

Coran said something, but Lance hardly heard it. How desperately he wanted his only concern to be for his sister well-being, healing whatever hurt was plaguing her, taking away that terrible fear, but he couldn’t let the poison that was pumping through his veins cloud his judgment. Right now, the Prince could not hold her, and scream with her, and break to pieces over what all of this meant; if he dared think about any one thing for too long he was certain his resolve would snap like wires, pulled too taut for too long, unable to bear the strain.

So instead, he did what he was ordered to do and moved to the navigation dais, already impatient as he waited for the two consoles to rise from the ground, their pace agonizingly slow. He made a note to fix that later — what good would they be in an emergency if it took _ticks_ for them to even be ready?

When they _were_ ready, about five decaphoebs later in his only-slightly dramatic opinion, his hands fell to the supports and, with everything he had, mind, body, soul, Lance allowed the sweeping sensation of energy to flow over and through him, his skin, his flesh and blood, his cheek marks tingling at the sensation.

Lance was not the Overseer — and Allura wasn’t yet, either unless Father was already… _no, don’t think about that_ — the point being, the castleship was not about to be accommodating, but Lance _needed_ to do this.

His Father had ordered it, and so it would be done.

With that thought nestled into the cracks between his ribs, filling the holes that begged to rip and tear, the Prince chased the will to survive, to _protect_ , from his heart, to fingers and down to his toes. A pulse, it asked him to give himself up, and Lance gladly answered the demand. No expectations, no hope of return, he untethered from his bodily self and allowed his soul to fray, his roots to tumble, his essence to die and be reborn. The idea of martyrdom wasn’t glamorous, and only fools would toy with such a thing purely in search of glory. No, it was humble, the act of yielding to certain fate and trusting that the tides would guide you, the moons would shape you back into yourself, the pull of gravity would give you a body, and the push of consciousness would return the soul if and only if it was meant to be there.

Otherwise, he would die, but at least the last thing he would do would be opening that wormhole.

The quintessence poured out of him, and with his eyes closed, Lance found the tremor, the wavelength he was looking for — the Blue Lion — on Altea’s surface. He shoved himself into the stars and prayed to them that a wormhole would open at his call, and with something almost akin to satisfaction but more desperate, more relieved, he felt space and time bend to his desire and a mighty presence passed through him — time, matter, life, death, the universe — and it was done.

But Blue wasn’t coming. The wormhole, the rip was there, but even as Lance’s heart tore to pieces in an effort to bring her through, she sat obstinately on Altea’s surface.

After several agonizing moments, however, something shifted and he felt a second surge of will brace his own, and in ticks, the Blue Lion was in her hangar, her presence resonating within the castle. From their brief flicker of exchange, a fusion of feelings, Lance’s heart shattered like seaglass, ground to powder for the suffering she felt, for her loss.

 _Blaytz is dead_.

Lance wanted to be there, comfort her, mourn with her, but there was another matter more pressing. Wobbling, he barely managed not to fall as he left the navigational dais, realizing that his weight had been caught by his big sister. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point her hands had joined his on the consoles and they’d managed to call the Blue Lion through, together.

“Brother, I — I’m sorry, p-please, I’m — I’m sorry,” she choked, and they shifted. The Prince was holding her now, and whispering for her to calm down, to breathe, to clue him in so he could help.

Instinctively, he told her that they were going to be okay, that everything was fine. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say. Lance never meant to lie to her; there was simply no way he could have known what was about to happen.

Summoning the wormhole couldn’t have taken much more than a few ticks, and yet, things had shifted. The screen that had Father’s face displayed across it was replaced by the satellite image from outside _Sidus_ , and the Prince watched, starstruck, dumbstruck, awestruck, as he tried to process what was on screen before them.

At the center of the black, inky expanse of space, the background pockmarked by twinkling stars that framed the planet, he witnessed Altea, his home, his whole life, _glowing_ , the surface being consumed with blinding light, eclipsing and radiant and _terrifying._ The only thing they could do was watch as the light became alive, combusting into an inferno of pale purple fire. It devoured first planet, then rings, all the way out until their little camera satellite was engulfed in the destructive wave, and the screen blacked out once more.

Vaguely, Lance wondered if he was a bad person, because the first and primary feeling he felt at that moment was _gratitude_. A single, repeated thought: _thank the stars_ , because, his sister was safe, her weight was real and she was sobbing against him; his intuitive need to protect and support her was overwhelming, and his arms came out to wrap around her middle.

He lowered his head to rest atop hers, not giving a quiznak if this made him a terrible, messed up person.

Thank the stars.

_Thank the stars._

Allura was okay. His sister was safe, and he was holding her, flesh and blood, and she was _safe_. Alive and in his arms and he could feel the shattering cries wrack her petite frame but she was _okay_ and that was the first and most important thing that mattered.

His strength, already tenuous at best, lasted only as long as it took Coran to guide Lance to sit in the nearest pilot’s seat, but even after that, the Prince was unwilling to allow his sister to be pried apart from him no matter how uncomfortable he was.

Coran would tell him later that he had gone into shock, holding Allura in stony silence while she cried and cried. At the time, Lance didn’t really know what he was doing. It could have been a product of being drained from calling the wormhole almost entirely by himself, but he imagined his iane silence had much more to do with the repeating images of destruction that dominated his senses.

Whatever the case, for some time, the Prince just existed. Maybe. Barely. His eyes were suns, and galaxies, and he was blind. Every time he tried to blink away the cataclysm of pure amethyst, the light came back to hit him with so much force he thought it would consume him. Destroy him. Burn him down until he was nothing but stardust.

Because wasn’t that what they all were? Just cosmic dust, lovely little accidents that came together under the right set of circumstances, like the tiny particles that floated in the air over his bed when he tried to chase sleep on early mornings, specks of nothing in the grand abyss of everything. And yet, if you take a single speck and build yourself around it, suddenly a single speck can become the center of your universe, and his little neutron star was so sickeningly lilac, purple, _stained_ , that it _hurt_.

_It hurt so much._

It felt like someone had replaced his blood with photons and they were trying to burst through his skin, nettle between his insides and compress his heart until it collapsed in on itself. That on its own wasn’t the problem; he just didn’t know what that sort of pressure would do to him. Would he become a black hole or a supernova? A broken singularity? How can he be a Vanguard when the only thing that has ever mattered to him was just erased, in a blink, like it was never there to begin with?

Ticks, or dobosh, or phoebs or decaphoebs passed. He wasn’t sure. It was just, _later_ , and eventually the haze over his focus lifted enough for Lance to grasp where he was.

The Prince was in his sister’s room, both of them still clothed with the blanket thrown over him. He must have been sleeping. Beside him, Allura was staring at the ceiling, quiet, her expression so blank he might have feared she had died if not for the steady rise and fall of her chest. Now that he was awake, the feeling of crippling devastation — a cocktail of fear and confusion and hopelessness, that swirled into one continuous, poisonous tonic — was all too present. A hollow thud, a question, tried to make it past his throat.

_What are we supposed to do now?_

But the words never made it, died on his lips.

It was still too raw, too overwhelming because — because there was clearly something wrong, or broken, or there was a tear in their reality, or the satellite had just been smashed by another of those trans-dimensional comets, or _something,_ because, because that was _home_ and _Father and Mother_ were both there, and _Blaytz_ and _death_ are two absolutes in Lance’s life that cannot be reconciled, and Tiegel and Gyrgan, and _Coran’s family, oh my_ god _what happened how did this —_

“Brother, please, breathe with me.” The Princess’s eyes were dull, empty, but her voice was hard and steady. “I know. I know.”

She repeated those two words for what felt like lifetimes, letting him fall apart and waiting for him to stitch himself back together. With his older sister running a hand through his hair and down his back while the panic and loss raged within him, Lance faced a monstrosity of emotion and questions.

Guilt. So much _guilt_. What happened? How did it happen? _Why?_

With the Princess’s gentle encouragement, eventually, the Prince felt the tension slowly starting to uncoil within him, his twisted insides returning back to where they belong. Once he’d given up all of his tears, he settled into an uncomfortable-comfortable sort of numb, lulling into a state of aftershock in which there was sound and movement around him, but Lance couldn’t really hear or move.

Cold. He was freezing.

When he closed his eyes, the back of his lids were no longer the color of clouded night skies or of the leader of the Voltron pack. They were whited out, and it was pretty like a frozen moon, undisturbed and delicate, but his nerves were frostbitten and he wasn’t able to appreciate any of it, the numbness having seeped too deep into his body. His chest hurt with a phantom sensation of being stabbed and someone had taken to pouring salt into his wounds.

The more Lance tried to pay attention, the more all he saw was Allura’s terrified face as she gasped and frantically threw herself from each side of the bridge in search answers that would never come, and that was one of the most painful images he could imagine. Yet, if he let himself submit to the numbness, then he inevitably felt the white creep upon him, just behind a veil that told him to just look, one second is all it would take, just give in for _one tiny second_ and the white would _eat him up_ and _spit him back out_.

 

* * *

 

Two turns.

The measurement of a quintant on Arus was slightly shorter than what they were used to, perhaps by two or three vargas, but that was no matter. Something close to two quintant, in two turns time, and the Altean siblings finally left the Princess’s room.

During those turns, Coran brought them some rations, but he did not try to push them to speak. Part of Lance wished he would, just so he could hear the familiar timbre of the advisor’s voice and relive the times they’d played in the castle gardens, or when the older Altean had pointed out different varieties of beetles while Allura led them on an expedition through the craggly meadows that sprouted after the terrible hail season of the flaming pyrite and obsidian glass that they suffered through every few decaphoebs. If Coran would have just said _something_ , maybe they could pretend it wasn’t real.

Pretend that Altea had not been destroyed. That Father, Mother, and all the paladins had not died. Had not been _murdered_. That Emperor Zarkon had not double-crossed them, had not used the peace summit as the universe’s most ironic trap to get them all on one planet, had not sent out a message across the universe informing — _gloating_ — over what he’d done.

Two turns.

The Altean siblings needed two turns to accept the devastation, to speak the words without coming apart at the seams. It was overwhelming but they’d already lost two precious turns and could not wallow in grief any longer.

Neither of them had said much since Lance’s breakdown beside the occasional stray question.   _Are you awake? Are you still there? Is any of this real?_ And without discussion or agreement or guidance, they took turns showering, changing into fresh clothes. They’d each brought a back-up change of clothes, an exact replica of his Vanguard regalia for the Prince and a carbon-copy for his sister of her ceremonial gown. They brought them by Mother’s advisement, in case their first ones stained. Now it was all they had left to wear, everything else having been moved to their new rooms on the Citadel. Well, they weren’t _new_ anymore, but… whatever.

After cleaning themselves up, the siblings went out to the kitchens and ate the meager amount that their stomachs could bare. Allura sat at the head of the table and Lance sat to her right, per usual, but neither said a word.

Then, finally, they walked to the bridge. It was silent, steps ringing out like gunfire in a war that was already supposed to be over, but, really, was only just getting started.

When they came upon the control room, Lance was unsurprised to find Coran there, the older Altean’s gaze flickering over and between screens at the control hub at the front of the room. He turned when the light _woosh_ of metal gliding over metal announced their arrival.

“Prince, Princess!” His hands dropped to his side and he was blinking. Lance felt strangely young again, watching his wrinkled face break into the most confusing expression — _a smile_ — given the circumstances.

They hadn’t even made it past the navigation platform before the older man was upon them, wrapping them both fiercely in a hug. It knocked the wind out of the Prince, took him by surprised enough to cause his heart to start thudding, a maddening sound, and it was even slightly painful.

But it was _real._ Not numb. Not ice cold, empty space, not lost to the funeral pyre of his home, his people, his culture. This was Coran, who had always been there for them, and was there for them now.

“Hey,” Lance said, his voice sounding awful as he pulled his sister and their advisor tighter in the embrace. “We should…”

Allura finished for him, her own voice remaining tight even as they all slowly untangled themselves from the embrace. “Find out what is happening.”

Without warning, the castle rumbled beneath them, and Lance reached out his arms to brace his sister.

“What the ruggle was that?” Allura muttered, waving off her little brother’s attempts to help her, and she fluttered over the controls with a glare. Lance didn’t miss the fact that her hands were shaking, but chose not to point this out. His own nerves were no better anyways.

A tick or so passed and the Princess pulled up the live security feed of the Blue Lion, seated in her hangar laying on her stomach, one paw tucked under her chin and the other blocking one side of her face. It could have almost appeared that she were sleeping, but Lance suspected it was more a position of grief.

 _Blaytz is dead_.

“We should go see her,” the Princess stated sadly. “I feel like we must.”

The Prince frowned at the anxious way his sister was worrying her lower lip between her teeth, her blue-lavender eyes boring into the screen. He, too, wanted to see the lion, to experience, embody, and wallow in the grief of their loss, but now did not seem to him like the time to do so. They needed to know what happened, if anyone… survived.

Still, the look on her face was desperate, and Lance was weak to deny her. He decided to make sure she wasn’t just running off emotional turbulence with a gentle prod. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Sister?”

With her gaze zeroed in on the screen, the Prince thought she looked almost terrified by the sight of the Lion. “Yes.”

Lance sighed but nodded, turning and following as his sister purposefully made her way out into the hall. He caught eyes with Coran, and the advisor looked… wow, he looked _awful._

“Coran,” Lance stopped, foot halfway out the door. “Have you slept?”

The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve tried, but, can’t seem to fancy a wink right now.”

The Prince bit his lip and shared a significant look with his sister. They both seemed to reach the same conclusion, and the Princess cleared her throat. She was still in the hallway, but Lance’s pose between bridge and ship kept the door open.

“Coran, please try to get some sleep. Lance and I will tend to things for awhile.”

The man didn’t put up much of an argument, just smiling fondly at the both of them before turning away with a nod.

“Thank you, Princess. I’ll go right after I finish with this,” he waved a nondescript gesture towards one panel.

The royal siblings turned and started back to the hangars; if either of them noticed the sound of tears the advisor’s voice, neither felt the need to comment.

Instead, they walked in more-or-less companionable silence, though the halls themselves felt glaringly vacant. Lance wondered how long it would take for dust to start to settle in the vents, if these halls would always feel as haunted as they do now. What was he supposed to expect to be normal?

Father had ordered them — _ordered them_ — not to come after him. He hadn’t said whether or not they should stay on Arus, or what they should do with two of five lions, with one pilot between them, and a war raging worse than ever. A war they may have officially lost, as of two quintant ago. It was hard to wrap his head around, and by the time Blue’s hangar doors were in front of him, the Prince had to force down the urge to sob.

 _Blaytz is dead_.

For some reason, the finality of that had been clawing at the back of his mind since the words fell from his father’s mouth. He hadn’t said what became of Mother, of Trigel or Gyrgan. If Blaytz had enough time to die before Altea was turned into a bomb, did that mean anyone else had enough time to survive? To live and fight or run? Did everyone really just… _die_?

_So much for no more crying._

The Princess went in first, her arms wrapped around herself in a self-drawn hug, tight, like if she didn’t squeeze herself together she very well might come apart. Her seams were showing, all of her vulnerabilities, and the first wet, choked sound that slipped from her mouth was strange and… relieved? Maybe this was cathartic for her.

For Lance, it only felt like a hole had opened up in the ground beneath him, threatening to swallow him, but instead of dropping him straight through the floor it wanted to suck him under, painful and slow as his limbs and body melded with the black, inky icher that felt like betrayal and sadness and emptiness.

Blue had lost her pilot, a part of _her_ , and Lance could never replace that. They might be able to bond in a different way now that they had no other choice, but Blaytz’s death was huge and it made him feel like he was drowning in the lion’s own sorrow, her loss and spirit a thousand times too big for his soul, but there was a strange, definitive _connection_ there that Lance was sure hadn’t been there before.

There hadn’t been any sort of _call_ to him like he’d been expecting, like Father and Blaytz and even Zarkon, once upon a time, had explained to him. No two-way link, no dimensional shift where the universe’s expansion of accidents and coincidences felt a little more purposeful. The Prince felt _her_ , but it was like something was stopping her from reaching out to him in the same manner. The sensation was strange, but then, so were all manifestations of grief. Perhaps this was her way of saying she was unwilling to let her former paladin go quite yet, and the Prince would not fault her that.

His legs drew him into the room after Allura, then he outpaced her and approached the particle barrier that kept those deemed unwelcome from her claws. One of his hand came to rest upon the almost impenetrable shield, and he felt a gut punch of raw emotion swell through him, the unbridled wave of _agony_ rupturing overtop of him like a wave of solar radiation, causing his muscles and mind to seize up and flinch back, a pain much deeper than skin coursing through him.

_No._

“Brother,” Allura called softly, her own voice cracking over the syllables. “I’m — I’m... ”

She didn’t even need to say it. Quiznak, Lance didn’t even need to see Blue for him to realize what he was feeling, but he had just hoped and prayed that it was wrong, a mistake, some ill-attempt at humor by fate because, hadn’t the universe ravaged him enough? It had to take this away from him too?

The moment his sister approached and rested a hand on his shoulder, the particle barrier dropped. A small calm, like a trembling droplet of water hanging from a leaf finally yielded to gravity, rippled across the steady tide pool of his mind, only for the tremors to smooth out once again. The feeling danced over his emotions, and the Blue Lion’s _bond_ that was supposed to be his, not Allura’s, resonated with happiness at her arrival.

Something had gone terribly wrong, subversion was too kind a word — a personal, self-contained catastrophe sounded better.

Lance was not the Blue Paladin. That title, the one he wanted for as long as he could remember, belonged to Allura.

Quiznak his stupid emotions, because everything he was screamed with petty jealousy, and he knew that was wrong. He wanted to be proud to be the brother and the son of respective Paladins of Voltron; instead, his throat burned with acid, and angry, _disgusted_ feeling of rejection.  

He spun away, unable to face his sister or her lion. _Her_ lion. Not his.

Blue was never his. Maybe that’s why he’d been robbed of her, because he was big-headed enough to think that he _would_ take Blaytz’s place just because he _wanted_ to, that he believed he was entitled to her at all was his downfall; that’s not how Voltron works. Narcissists don’t become paladins.

Upstanding, humble, _worthy_ people became paladins. People like his sister, and his Father. Not people like Lance.

The Prince didn’t hear his sister’s pleas to come back, to wait, not wanting to hear her try to apologize because, really, she had nothing to be sorry for. No one did, besides maybe Father and Blaytz for getting his hopes up, but what good would cursing dead men accomplish?

No, Lance was disappointed, but that feeling was reserved for himself, turned inward. Idiot. Quiznaking idiot. The Blue Lion is graceful and fluid like water, but sharp and clear like ice; he was clumsy and gangly and late for everything, unfocused during the most important times. He was just the Vanguard. The dignitary, joke-of-a title that gave him a military rank, undeserved since he was all of five quintants old when it was officially given to him by his Mother and Father. Really, it meant little more than _the_ _other one_. The second sibling, the one to marry off to another planet for alliance purposes, the one that could afford to slack off because no one expected that much from him anyways.

Funny, how he spent his whole life trying to be better than that, just to rub it in their dumb quiznaking faces. Now anyone who had tried to tell him he wasn’t good enough was _dead_ , and they had the satisfaction of taking to their graves that they were absolutely right.

He _wasn’t_ good enough.


	2. The Red Paladin & The Overseer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Lion returns to Arus with some... _unexpected_ , alien cargo. Meanwhile, Lance tries to adjust to giving up his dream of being the Blue Paladin, only to discover that, holy quiznak, he might have a much more vital role than he ever imagined. Maybe too much of a role. Oh, ruggle.

The next movement passed… awkwardly, at first. The Prince had holed himself in his old room this time, wandering that way out of habit after he realized what had happened, unwilling to admit that he missed the comfort of his sister’s bed with her beside him. Coran brought him food that he could not stomach, and after a quintant or so, Lance decided that he couldn’t quiznaking take it — he couldn’t sleep, he wasn’t able to eat, he could barely function. This wasn’t even a self-thrown pity party where he was the guest of honor, the honoree to a private ‘ _You Suck, Now Suck it Up’_ intervention. No, the Prince felt slow and uncomfortable, like everything was too heavy for him to bare all of the sudden.

His body. His soul. The attempt to drag a thought to the forefront of his consciousness. All of it was like a Herculean task and he was just a child, a fearful, scared little boy without a home to go back to or parents from whom he could seek guidance or comfort.

In a way, he almost felt like he was sick, but there was nothing _physically_ wrong with him. No chills, no fever, no aches and pains. Just bogged down by the burden of his own quiznaking miserable existence.

For the next three quintant, the Prince decided he was _done_ with this feeling. He couldn’t avoid his sister, and he didn’t really want to. The universe kept spinning on outside of the Castle of Lions, and he needed to step up and do his part in helping to protect it… or what was left of it, anyways. Laying down and accepting his ineptitude as failure would only serve to help the Galra Empire, because if he and Allura were to have any hope of putting an end to this senseless war, they would have to do it together. Their interactions in the coming quintant were brief and devoid of any real meaning above small talk, but it was a start. He ate his meals with her, checked the bridge every six varga or so, but otherwise, they kept their distance.

In the meantime, he trained. Lance lined up target after target after target in the training room, trying to will his muscles to move again. He practiced hand-to-hand with a polestaff to get his blood pumping again, to feel something that tied him to his living-breathing body and not the terrible, unbearable weight of something huge in his chest, before, of course, turning to his sniper rifle.

It wasn’t his favorite one. That one had been stored in his new training area on the Citadel, which had consequently been blown to kingdom come. And, no, the irony to such an example was not lost on him.

Nevertheless, this rifle was familiar and did the job well-enough, and he felt himself returning to a rhythm, finding himself again in the repeated motions, the steady exhales, the pulse in his ears before he pulled the trigger.

Every target that dropped was a reminder than he could still be useful, a recovered shard to the cracks and fissures in his self-worth. There were microscopic bits, dust that floated away and would likely never be found again, but the greater image had returned, and Lance at least was beginning to recognize himself in the mirror again.

By the sixth quintant, he was breathing easier again. Not _easily_ , mind you — _curse this stupidly thin Arusian air_ — but easier. He found his sister in her lion, pleased that he was granted entrance. She was sleeping soundly in the cockpit, legs drawn up to her chest and she was hugging them, slightly leaning on her side.

When Lance nudged her awake, she looked paler than usual and the dark bruises beneath her eyes made it easy to tell she’d been sleeping poorly, if at all.

“B-Brother?” Allura blinked slowly, and the Prince’s expression softened and he brushed some of her unruly hair from her face.

“Hi, sis.” A pregnant pause as the siblings examined each other, and Lance was filled with gratitude just like he’d been when he watched his world fall apart — be blown apart, whatever. Thank the stars, because seated before him was his big sister, and she was alive. She was the Blue Paladin, the Heir, the older, the thorn in his side that he loved to annoy. Allura was alive and he could see the life in her fierce eyes, their Mother’s eyes.

With a tilt to his smile, Lance sighed and stood up, looking around the pilot area. “No offense to Blue, but that chair looks incredibly uncomfortable. Why don’t you come with me to get some breakfast… or dinner… I have no idea what time it is.”

With a breathy chuckle, like she’d forgotten if that was how a laugh should sound, the Princess allowed her little brother to help her stand and leaned into his side while they exited the Blue Lion.

His heart still ached in response to the sentient being, like he could reach out and almost _tug_ at the bond she shared with his sister. It was tangible, recognizable like some sort of weird empathy, and from it he understood that she and the lion had begun to adjust and accept, a mutual but tentative relationship beginning to form. It was a bond seeded with a deep shared admiration and respect for the other.

Lance could say he was truly and sincerely glad for Blue and Allura, happy as their tenuous bond continued to solidify on the grounds of mutual trust. His sister was the Blue Paladin. That was just the first of many, many steps they would have to trace if they were going to have a chance in this war.

On the seventh quintant, one movement marking the moment they’d realized she was going to be the pilot of the Blue Lion and the ninth after losing everything, tensions had risen once again.

The Prince stood with his arms crossed, facing his sister on the bridge. The sound of Coran’s fingers flying over a keypad for gods knows what reason was the only break in the silence for several ticks.

“I think we should stay here,” Lance said again, and she looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

Allura took a deep breath. “Okay, then, I _did_ understand you the first time, I just sincerely hoped I was mistaken. We can’t _stay_ on Arus, Lance!”

The Prince rolled his eyes at how predictable she was sometimes. “And why not?”

“Because we don’t know the extent to the Galra’s expansionism — if we at least get the castle flying to a remote star system, we can try to buy some time while we figure things out. We don’t know about the other Lions! We haven’t been able to contact the Coalition since the attack! We don’t know... We don’t… we don’t know anything,” her voice dropped significantly. “We don’t know anything.”

“Yeah,” the Prince agreed, forcing himself to relax with a low exhale. He walked the length of the room, from where he leaned against the arm of Trigel’s old pilot seat and over to Allura’s new one, opening his arms in a peace offering. “I know. And I know staying in one place is risky, but they haven’t found us yet and wormholing might put us back on the map. The less energy we put out there right now, the better.”

She accepted the hug with a look of defeat, sigh into his sternum. “I just don’t know what to do. I feel like we’ve accomplished nothing just staying here. I want to do _something_.”

After a solid dobosh of just grounding each other in the embrace, Coran cleared his throat, and the siblings both looked up. “Well, Prince, Princess, I think we’ve hit a bit of luck. I’ve been doing a bit of sleuthing best I can with encrypted channels, though the reach is poor from planetside without your father powering the castle, but I’ve managed to find out some news about the situation. Enough to at least get us pointed in what I hope is the right direction.”

Lance blinked, momentarily surprised until he thought, no, he really _shouldn’t_ be surprised. Coran was incredibly detail-oriented, if not eccentric at times, and had been keeping to them with as level a head anyone could have given the circumstances.

The Princess unwound herself from her brother and rubbed at the corner of her eyes in a frustrated sort of way before starting forward towards the control panels. “Very well. Show us what you have, please.”

Dutifully, Coran gave a firm nod and began to pull up an image on the main screen. It was a still frame of what appeared to be a video, with the Emperor’s bottomless purple eyes aglow, his expression void of any emotion. “Well, to address your point about the expansionism, it appears it was about as your father expected. Many of those ‘rebel insurgencies’ within the Galran ranks were indeed under the Empire’s thumb from the get-go. That being said, with the news of… _recent events..._ now reaching most of the universe —”

“Murder,” Allura corrected, her eyes snapping to the advisor’s face like a whip. “If Emperor Zarkon is going to be a tyrant, than we shall call his deeds exactly what they are. He promotes genocide. Is responsible for countless atrocities. He is a monster dressed up in king’s clothing.”

Lance came up beside his sister and placed a hand lightly on the her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Yes. He is. But let’s let Coran finish.”

The old Altean’s heart sat heavy in his chest as he watched the siblings try to school their emotions — how cruel could the tides of fate be, he wondered, to thrust such devastating responsibility on two young adults? Well, Coran decided, he alone may not be a moon that could guide those tides, but he was at least determined to be the lighthouse that saw them both safely to the shore.

“Yes, well,” the man cleared his throat and flickered to another set of images on the screen. It was a four-by-four diagram of faces, all bearing yellow sclera and accompanying ugly grimaces, the lines of their nasty expressions hardened no doubt by war and many won battles. “As it appears, the ‘rogue’ military personnel that cropped up over the decaphoebs appear not to have been rogue at all, and with the, erm, _destruction of Altea_ ,”

They all winced, but Allura’s face remained harsh and determined. She nodded for him to continue, while Lance felt his blood run even colder.

“They have all come forward to swear their allegiance, and as a result, the empire seems to be much larger than Trigel and Gyrgan originally suspected in their diagrams. It appears that Emperor Zar— ”

The screen Coran had been using to explain shorted out for a moment, switching over to an aerial radar that was entirely and conspicuously blank.

“Now, wait on a tick,” the advisor threw up his hands, raising a brow as he returned his attention to the control panel. “What in the name of cranking erristian mufflod is this?”

Almost comically, the castle provided him with an answer in the way only blaring red warning lights could. A crimson _blip_ appeared suddenly on the screen, and whatever slight peace they’d had was broken.

The Prince blinked at the screen twice, observing the image for all of a single tick for his brain to catch up, and promptly leapt towards the control panels with surprising clarity, drawn by body, mind and soul, to the panels like the alarm was indeed a siren’s song. He was pulled into and _through_ the momentary chaos with enough composure that he scarcely noticed the weight of eyes boring into the back of him. His hands flew over displays and scrolled through menus until he reached the castle’s sentries, switching the main display panel to ‘visual’ so they could get a sense of what was happening.

“Something’s entered the atmosphere,” he muttered for the benefit of Allura and Coran. If Zarkon was coming to finish what he started, he hoped the Emperor wasn’t expecting him to sit back and wait. He would fight tooth and nail until his soul was forced from his mortal body.

Aiming the camera skywards, Lance enhanced the visual by zooming towards a section of the horizon that corresponded with the red blip on the radar, verifying his claim.

“It’s… _oh my god —_ ” Lance’s jaw dropped, and he slammed his hand down to cancel the alarm. Suddenly, the very real emptiness of the castle returned with a infracturable sort of silence. That wasn’t — that wasn’t just _any_ blip. That blip had a _very_ distinct energy signature. The three Alteans watched in mute disbelief, fear, suspicion, and stupid, pitiful _hope_ as the unmistakable energy signatures of the _Red Lion_ hurdled towards them, not yet visible to the sentries but it would only be ticks until that changed.

Allura finally spoke what they were all wondering. “Could it be... _Father_?”

Darting towards the communication panel, Lance was stopped by Coran whose eyes were dark, darker than he’d ever seen them before. “Just a tick, your Highness. The universe — we didn’t get to this bit, but everyone believes you both to be dead. Just in case this is… some sort of trick, I must insist I handle communications.”

Lance hadn’t considered that, and the chill in his bones was all too present once again. How could he be so desperate and flippant that he’d thrown aside all reason just to hear Father’s voice again? He felt a pang of disgust for not even suspecting it could be a trap — the last and very recent trick they’d fallen for, hardly a movement ago, had cost them dearly.

A dot on the screen was one thing, but just as Coran held the microphone up to his lips, the three gasped upon witnessing the awesome flash of a burning, scarlet lion break through the cloud line.

It was really her — _Red_. Lance had never been so happy to see her.

He was vaguely aware that Allura was somewhere to his left, but his eyes refused to leave the screen as the lion twirled and soared and dipped further and further into Arus’s stratosphere.

“This is the Castle of Lions, hailing the Red Lion. State your name and your business.”

The bridge was deathly still for several ticks — several long, long, _long_ ticks — when, finally, there was an odd bumble of sound that shattered the silence with an almost violent sort of force. It was some sort of foreign tongue, at least belonging to three different people, all of whom sounded anywhere from mildly alarmed to downright yelling nonsense, more than once right into the speakers and causing the three on the ground to jump.

And already the grim, spiteful disappointment was starting to churn in his stomach because he had been being naive — he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. Just because the Red Lion had for the longest time meant _Father,_ and that meant _home,_ didn’t mean that his death was any less real, any less irrefutable.

“Do either of you recognize the language?” Allura asked after turning the volume down, but not muting it entirely. Both her brother and advisor shook their heads. “Not that it really matters. They’re here.”

Lance’s lips thinned, and he double-checked to make sure the particle barrier was — _“QUIZNAK! Why is the particle barrier disabled?!_ ”

He only had a tick to inspect it, but his intuition supplied the answer almost as soon as he sputtered out the words — the shield dropped as soon as Red entered the atmosphere. The quintessence of the castle and the lions were linked, after all — and just one tick more to wonder _how the heck_ he knew that information when the ground shifted beneath them.

The source was obvious, the loud and sharp protest of metal claws coming to rest on rock crags bellowed down the hallways, echoing strangely by the time it reached the bridge. Through the sentries, they observed the stone overpass that led from the mainland to out to the castle shudder beneath Red’s mass, but it managed, and sure enough the lion’s haunches came to bear down in front of the castle entrance.

She obediently lowered her head and opened her jaw, but no figures stepped into sight of the camera.

That... wasn’t the most reassuring sign, to be perfectly honest.

Allura’s eyes flickered nervously from the door to the image on the screen, as if their visitors (?) could have entered while invisible. “Maybe we should try another language?”

“Uhh, yeah, Coran — try Galran. If they’re an enemy they’ll definitely know what we’re saying, and we can at least judge their reactions based on the communications channel. They left it open,” Lance titled his head, almost bemused as he listened to what sounded very much like an argument. Funny how some things are universal.

“Smart,” his sister complimented with a firm nod of assent to the advisor, who cleared his throat and turned the volume up again. At least they weren’t all screaming anymore.

[ **This is the Castle of Lions, hailing the Red Lion. Do you copy?** ] Lance wrinkled his nose at the harsh flavor of Galran language, but said nothing as they waited. The channel had gone silent at their call, which could be in fear or in recognition, before the native tongue started up again.

“Ẅ̶̱̯́̆ḣ̴̹ò̴̠á̷̦̻̆ t̷̳͋̌h̵̡͔̋ȁ̸̫̰̈t̵̥̓ w̴a̷̫̲͑ṡ̴̺̂ ď̵̬̓ẹ̶̔̃fĭ̵n̶̩͋it̷̘̋̍e̵̙̫̔͌ḷý̶̡ G̴̬͍̈́ä̶̧̜́͘l̸̗̀ȑ̴̠͂ã̷͔̹͌n̴,” said a voice, male, judging by the sound of it.

Another male, this one lower and faster — nervous, maybe? ”̷̜͝W̴͊e̶͖̥͊͘l̵̗̤̂l,̷̨w̵̰͝h̴̪͉̓͝ä̴̜́̊t̴̤͠ ̴͖̑̅d̵i̷̮̲͋͠d̶͍͠ ̴̄͠ͅt̵̞̑͝h̸̡͇̀ḛ̶̅̌ÿ̴̝̜́ ̵̈̈́ş̶̲a̶̼̅y̷̛̟̑?̷̝͊!̸̘͎͒

"T̵͕̾h̶͈̳́̚ē̸͕̤ỳ̷͔͍ ̴̣͇̓ȃ̶̻̄s̵̺̒̃ḱ̸̠̗̄è̷̡͒d̶̥́ ̷̥̑u̵̥͒s̴̼͇̕ ̷̼̰́̍t̵̛̬̆ŏ̷͈͝...u̶̫̦̓h̶̟͈͊̀... I̸̘̙̅̆'m̴̖̊ a̶̝̞͝c̴̥͝ȕ̸̘t̷̯̐͝ͅa̸̡͑̄l̷͉͠ly̸̛̖̘̋ ̶̢̱̈͝n̴̳͐͆ó̸̡̧t̴̻͌͘ f̸̭̄lư̴͕̯̆e̷͔̔̓ṋ̷͍̐t̷̳̊ b̴̢͑ǔ̴̝̝t̸̗̲͒, I t̵͉̰̍͋ḣ̶̜̕i̵̹͔͠n̸͍k̷͈̈́̕ t̵̼̂h̸͕́̋ē̵̪͝y̵̖͛ā̴̢s̶͈k̴̳̽́é̴̯d̴͚w̸͖̄ḥ̶̅ó̴͈̓ w̴ẹ̷̑ a̸̪̟̓r̶̗̼͐͐ẻ̴͕̟̐?̴̪̤͒̇”

Finally a new voice, higher pitched and definitely annoyed. Maybe female? "Ș̷̰̇a̷͉͗y̵̬̚ s̷̠͂ó̶̳̈m̵̢͕̀ȅ̵͈̀t̸̺̬̑̄ḧ̶̦̠̆i̵̘̇̈n̴̯̍̾g, t̶̥̥h̴̬ȩ̸͌͝n̵̛̤̎!̴̲̍̈́ D̸̟̓o̶̘̪͒̚n̶̘͒'t̷̙̣͐ j̴̝̯̔ǔ̴͕st sīẗ̷̟̮́ ṯ̸̦͗ḧ̵̝́e̷̝̰͊r̸̦͆e̸͔̼̋͌!̵̻͍̑”

[ **U-Uh. We copy.]** It was the first speaker, they cleared their throat and leaned closer to the microphone, as their voice became much too loud in the silent halls of the castle. **[I do not speak Galran well. Excuse me. We are… have… we bring ourselves in peace?** ]

The siblings watched the Red Lion’s screen intently, waiting, watching for something to change. After a solid dobosh, they heard whispering in the native language again, furious and quite possibly scared.

Allura looked conflicted, biting her lower lip before looking to Coran. “I don’t suppose any of the old translation inserts are still around in the castle?”

“Well, it’s quite likely there are some,” Coran spoke in time with a nod, his eyes cast up towards the ceiling in a mindful expression. “But it might take awhile to find them, seeing as the Citadel has — er, _had_ , much of the castle’s more mobile technologies transferred to it when — ”

[ **Hello? Are you there still?** ]

Sighing, Lance tilted his head and glared at the image on the screen.

This whole thing was just… _weird_

If it _was_ Zarkon’s forces coming to “tie up any loose ends” — bunch of _quiznaks_ — they would have surely burst in the moment the lion landed when they saw the particle barrier wasn’t up. And, more importantly, this was the _Red Lion_ , Father’s Lion, who would not even let Allura or Lance pilot her, and they shared their father’s blood. If Black had enough sense to reject Zarkon, Red must be a pretty good judge of character too, right? She wouldn’t lead hostile forces literally right to their door. He was certain of that.

“I don’t think it’s a trap,” Lance said abruptly, only to realize that Allura had been in the middle of saying something. He blinked back into focus. “I’m sorry for interrupting. I was just thinking — the particle barrier only would have lowered to accept the lion if it deemed it not a threat, right? That’s part of the whole reason Father put Black here at all, so Zarkon could never reach her. So whoever they are, Red must trust them.”

“Ah,” Coran rubbed his chin in understanding, turning to the princess who looked somewhere between stricken and fearsome. “It could be the, ah, new paladin?”

Allura glared over her shoulder in the general direction of the front of the castle. “How can that be possible? How did they find us, and more importantly, why is there more than one person?”

Shrugging, Lance had already made up his mind and didn’t bother waiting for her to object — Oriande knows she would — and called over his shoulder as he strolled out of the bridge.

“Well, only one way to find out!”

The Prince put on his best smile, and it made his cheeks ache slightly — not in a bad sense, just in an awfully familiar sense. The Red Lion parked in front of the Castle of Lions and Lance going out to greet their pilot — how many times has he done this before? How many hallways did he run down, giggling as Coran or the nannies chased him in anticipation of giving his father a hug after returning from some dangerous mission? This was something he knew how to do, and yet, he hadn’t any clue what he was doing.

Maybe it was anticipation; maybe it was still some weird desperate clinging to hope that King Alfor was in the pilot seat and was just suffering from strange brand of amnesia; maybe it was something crying, breaking, blooming in his quintessence that he really couldn’t grasp in any real sense — whatever it was that was pushing him towards the front of the castle, now in sight as he took the atrium stairs two at a time — it was magnetic and Lance felt himself strangely _eager_ to be there when the door to Red’s cockpit finally parted. He hardly heard Allura and Coran shouting for him to come back, but he was practically running towards the open gate.

Arusian sunlight hit him hard, _ugh, it’s really bright_ , as he stepped out of the archway’s shadow and finally stopped a few yards short of the Red Lion’s lowered head. Even so, he kept his smile as wan as possible and waited, a little surprised when he glanced over his shoulder to see that Allura and Coran had not followed him.

[ **Come out! I won’t hurt you.** ] He waved impatiently.

Without being able to hear their radio-chatter or broken Galran response, Lance wasn’t sure what they were doing, but he was full aware that Red’s ion cannon was barreling down at him like a klanmüirl honing in on its next meal. He wasn’t afraid, which in and of itself baffled him, but it was with a strange pride that he stood before the Red Lion, waiting for its occupants to show themselves.

Almost by _his_ command, Red jostled slightly, her tail whipping back and forth and the doors to her cockpit opened, and what looked like three alien adults and a child unceremoniously fell out of her. They landed with little squeaks and grunts on the stone bridge, and, Oriande forgive him, all his seventeen decaphoebs of etiquette training went right out the quiznaking window as he began to positively _cackle_ at the sight.

He almost started crying from the force of the laughter wracking his body, geez, it had been so long since he’d laughed but they all simply looked so _annoyed_ with him, he really couldn’t help it. The Prince took this opportunity to study each of their faces.

First, he noticed the large, pale one, built like a warrior with a scar over his nose and a white tuft of hair; he looked tired, almost world-weary, but his gaze was distinctly fond as he sat up, rubbing his head and looking at the other three.

His voice was steady when he addressed them. “E̸̗̒v̵͉͌ḛ̶̀r̵̬̍y̴̲̓b̵̯̕o̶̥d̵̠̈́y̷̨͛ ̶̘̿o̷̥͊k̵͇̈ȁ̷ÿ̵̖?̶̦̿”

The next one he spotted was the child, genderless or at the very least androgynous, in oversized clothing. Maybe they weren’t a child at all, but someone who had been de-aged or shrunken by some sort of time distortion? In any case, they were mumbling something too shallow for Lance to pick up at all, and they were glaring at the Red Lion like she had personally offended them.

Then, there was the another large one, who had fallen nearest to Lance. His skin was a rich brown color and his hair even richer, and he wore a yellow bandana to keep the bangs from his face, which was pinched in pain as he he groaned, loudly, before rolling onto his back. He blinked at Lance in a dazed mixture of apprehension and relief.

“O̴̞̔h̷̠̾ ̴͈̃g̵̯̀r̵̯͆ë̴̳a̴̱͂ṱ̴̌,̵̥͊ n̸̜͝ô̴̹w̵̞̒ h̴͓͐e̶͓̓'s̷͓̈́ _l̷̑ā̵̠u̵͉̿ǵ̵͇ȟ̴̪i̸̱͗n̷̡͐g̶̤̚_ a̵͇͗ṯ̷̾ u̶̜͝ś̶͇.̷̨̾ T̸͉͘ḥ̵̅i̸̯͠ś̸̻ i̷̛ͅs̵̻̐ t̷̬̀h̷̠͗e̵̡͝ la̵s̷͓̓t̸͚t̸ḭm̴͉͝ẹ̸̿ I̷̥̓ e̵̗̕v̷͎̑e̴̜̕r̶͓̅ d̷̰o̸̖̾ a̴̺͌n̸͈̈́ý̴̪t̸͕͒h̷̞̎i̸̲̚n̶̮̑g̴̨̏ w̷̰͌í̵̪ț̴̀h̸̬̄ ̷͈́y̴̲̽ö̶̢́ǘ̷̼,̸͌ͅ ̸̆ͅP̵̰̌ȋ̸͕d̴̛͖g̵͇̋ẻ̶͈,” he grumbled in that same slippery tongue. Lance couldn’t tell if he was being spoken to or if the man had addressed his companions, but he did recognize the unmistakable tremor of fear in his tone.

Lance had never had any problem making friends, and in an offer of good faith, he walked up to the groaning one who shall henceforth be dubbed ‘Bandana’ in his mind until they get something worked out in terms of translation and offered a hand. Hopefully, the gesture was simple and universal enough that they wouldn’t think he was trying to pick a fight.

They all _seemed_ harmless enough, and the unplanned interaction of meeting these slightly-battered alien strangers was a breath of fresh air in his lungs, like he was finally able to exhale some of the latent toxicity that had stewed in him for the past movement. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, _needed_ this, something normal and familiar even if the people were neither normal nor familiar.

It was the simple act of laughing and talking, to finally think about something that wasn’t blatantly terrifying or so painful he felt his body lose touch with his mind, that was enlivening him with a second wind, a spark of something hopeful.

They all quieted their mismatched sounds of discomfort while the Prince stood over Bandana, and while he tried to look friendly enough with a crooked and smile and one raised brow, he could see the doubt etched into Bandana’s face. Slowly, _slowly_ , a large shaking hand reached out and accepted Lance’s offer, and he beamed as he helped Bandana to his feet.

“Hello,” he said as Bandana dusted himself off, only for Bandana to wince. Lance held up two hands in apology.

“Uhh...” scratching his chin, the Prince decided to try Galran again. At least someone here spoke it, albeit poorly, and that was a start. [ **Hello** ]?

In the corner of his eye, Lance saw the last of the adults move, sitting up with... large, prominent ears, flicking in a way that seemed like recognition.

[ **Hello** ]? Their voice parroted his, and with a sunny smile, Lance turned — he found the translator! Now, they could finally get somewhere.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Yellow sclera blinked back at him, wary, and the reaction struck him as unusually timid action for those familiar, threatening eyes, but paired with the unmistakable flash of purple skin, cheeks marked by twin lines of color, and there was no question as to this man’s heritage.

 _Galra_.

His brain had only barely jackknifed into a panic, a few ticks of white blindness and uncensored fury, before the Prince shook his head pointedly and tried to see reason.

This person was definitely _part-Galra_ , but, there were almost more traits violating that assertion than affirming it. Their body was significantly smaller than any adult Galra, and the facial features were too soft. Within the pools of golden eyes were wide, dark indigo irises. He had actual hair on his head, not just fur like many male Galra. It was ebony in color, messy and just long enough to frame his face.

The real kicker was his ears, though. Oh, boy. Slightly wider and lower than most Galra’s, the placement of his ears was more similar to that of these other aliens or even Alteans. They were the same soft lavender shade of his skin, but, even better, they were adorably fluffy with fur sticking up in such a way that made him look like a grumpy baby fuzzlopod. They flicked twice just as the Prince concluded that those ears were undeniably delightful, and _oh goodness_ it was so _cute,_ what the _quiznak_?

_How unfair, universe. You throw this rag-tag racket into my life and you have to make one of them quiznaking adorable? Just unfair._

The whole inspection was really only a few ticks of tense silence, but Lance’s face split into a grin and the Galra hybrid seemed to untense. A small, unsure smile replaced his worried frown, and it appeared the others relaxed a bit after the moment passed.

Tilting his head to the side, Lance smirked. **[Your ears…]**

The other shifted uneasily. **[...Yeah?]**

 **[They’re adorable. So fluffy!]** He laughed when a very clear dark purple blush crept up the man’s neck and tinted his cheeks. **[You’re part-Galra, aren’t you?]**

He other wrinkled their nose before replying. **[Unfortunately.]**

Okay, yep, _that_ was funny. Lance laughed again, and _gods_ if it didn’t feel good.

The possibly-shrunken-adult-child was now standing, and they offered a hand to the large pale one before adjusting the metal goggles that sat over the bridge of their nose. They sized-up the Prince with a skeptical look.“W̶̨͝h̷̪̱́â̸̛̬ţ̶̟̊͗'̵̤̻͠s̶͔̦͐̾ ḥ̷̿͝ē ̶̠́̈́s̵̛̱ằ̵̢̫ŷ̷̰i̸͎̪̓͝ṅ̵͓͝ǧ̷̝̗͒?̴̧̙͗”

Fuzzy turned to Shrunken-Adult-Child and said, “U̵͉̼̿m̷̘̈́̕, h̷͉̞́̚e̶̫̍͠ ̷̝̣̍̿j̷͕͝ú̴̲͈s̸͇t̵̝̏͊ a̵͎̳͑s̷̰̀̀k̶̼̳͐͝e̷̛̫ḓ̸͂͌ if̸̣͌I̵̺̍w̷a̵̟̝̓s̷̯͌͆ p̷̛͍͋a̶̭̪͒ŕ̸͓̜t̵̳͖̏-̷͈̖̃G̵̱̎ȁ̷̻̾l̴͉̀r̴̙̠̆ä̶̳́, ā̵̧̕n̸̗̤͂̾ḋ̷̺ İ s̶a̵̢͒̓ḭ̶̢͐d̵̺̲̂ 'u̸̺̲͌ǹ̷͈͖f̴̫͈o̴̢̅r̷̰͌t̷͎͖̃ǘ̵̜͓͆n̶͎̊a̷̜̹̔t̶̹́̍è̸͉̝l̶̫͓̋͒y̸̧̡̔̀'. G̵͇̿ṷ̴̆ḙ̴̋s̷̲̜͒s̴̰̟͗ w̵̤͎̃é̸̢̫ ḱ̸̯̳n̴̑͝ͅo̶̝͉̽ẅ̶͍̥́̎ w̸̮̎͝ͅh̵̹ę̸̣͂̉r̸̞̃͆ë̸̜́̈ h̸̰͊e̴̞͝ s̴͕͇̑t̴̛̼͍à̴̖̲̉n̶͎̾̋d̶̡̎͑ŝ̸̢͠ ȍ̴̥̆ņ̶̂ t̷͕̱̑̈h̷a̷̬͂̓t̴̠̼̽?̴̩̀̀”

A sharp voice interrupted their odd, not-quite-tense-but-still-unsure atmosphere.

“ _Lance! Are you out of your crankers!”_

Allura’s voice was lethal as it rang down the halls of the castle, and when he turned his eyes widened. The Prince practically threw himself in front of the Galran, who was still in the middle of pulling himself to standing just as the Princess came bursting onto the scene.

She had her quiznaking _bayard_. Lance hadn’t even known she’d activated it before, but given the confidence with which she gripped what seemed like some sort of energy-conductive whip, he concluded that she was definitely not just messing around.

“Allura! Stop! They aren’t doing anything wrong.” Lance pleaded as a very wary Princess slowed her sprint to a stop just a few yards away, barely passing the threshold of the castle, eyes darting to the poor Galra who looked so confused it almost made Lance start laughing again.

“Ȉ̷̞s̴̳̿ t̶̳̅ha̷͓͘t̶̼͒ ̵̠͗a̸̗̓-à̵̘ ̵̠̈́w̴̱̿h̶̠́ip̶̥̚?̶̤̎ ̸͂͜O̷̳̾h̸, m̶ý̶̠ g̶̭͘ȯd̵̲̄,̵̯̍ p̴̘͗l̶̖̇è̷̡a̷̰͝s̵̫͊e̵̮͂, p̶̻̑l̶̼̈e̸͖͐å̴̰s̵̯̉ȅ̵̻  I̸͉̓ d̵͍͑o̷̟͑ņ̷͒'t̸̯͝ w̶̧̛ả̸̱n̸̙͌t̶̫̚ ț̷̆o̷͈͛d̶͈̿ie̸̥̓ a̴̖͊t̴̹͗ t̵̗̑ḩ̷́e̵̳̐ h̷̩̓a̶̧n̴̛̬d̸̄ͅs̵̺̑ ŏ̷f̷̩̀ y̴̛̹e̷͇̿l̸̲̊ĺ̶̟i̴̩͊n̶͔͌g̷̹͂ ̸̫̐a̷͈̅ǹ̵͈g̷͗r̶̪̓ẙ̵̟-̸̧͌s̶̱̈́p̷̩̍a̷̯͆c̶ë e̸̻̓l̷̹̕v̶̞̄e̷̖͂s̶̠̎!̷̮ Ẁ̸͓h̵̯̓y̸̹̕ a̶͍͝r̴͕͌e̸͍͆ ṯ̷̌h̶̨̀e̶̳͐y̴̦͘ s̵̺̾c̶̦̅r̵͈͐e̴̖à̸̬m̵̘͂i̸̳͋n̷̺͝g ą̴̐t̷̻͘ e̵̮̾a̷̠̿c̷̫͑h̴ o̷̔ͅt̴̞͗h̶̯͘ȇ̸̲r̵͔͗?̸̤͌” Bandana said somewhere to Lance’s right, and he sounded close to tears. Poor man was probably confused out of his mind.

“But — ” She barely spared the other aliens a glance, all of her shrewd ire pointed fiercely at the Galra hybrid.

Lance met her glare-for-glare. “Don’t, Sister. I mean it. Red wouldn’t have brought them here if she didn’t want them to be here. You _know_ that. He’s only part-Galra anyway, look, his eyes and ears are all wrong. They’re, heh, really fluffy.”

She stared at her brother with an unreadable expression for several ticks before letting out a long sigh, letting her arm drop to its side. Her bayard retracted, and Lance let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You are _incorrigible_. What if _was_ a trap, what if — what if y-you _died_? I — I can’t lose you too. I _can’t_.”

The way her voice cracked was like taking a dagger straight into his stomach, and Lance felt himself sway a bit on the spot. His defensive stance was gone, and he recognized the unmistakable sound of choked back tears in his big sister’s voice.

“Oh, gods, A-Allura I’m so sorry. I didn’t — I wouldn’t have —”

Behind him, meanwhile, Bandana was speaking to… himself, maybe? Lance wasn’t looking, but he was starting to distinguish between their voices.

“Ỷ̴̨e̴̹͝s̴̨̓,̴̮̿ g̵̘͊o̷̲̾ö̵̰́d̴̻͂,̸̹́p̶̜̍ṵ̸̏t̴̺͘ t̶̲̕h̸̲̋e̵̮̾ m̵̳͌ä̶̱́g̵i̵̺̊c̶̛̹ȧ̴͉l ̵͍́s̴̟̽p̷̱̌ḁ̶̾c̷̘̚ẽ̴̹ ̵̞̋w̸̱͐h̷̨̔i̵̜̊p̵̟̂ d̵̲̉ō̸w̷̳͌n̶͉̒.̵͎̕.̴̟̀S̵͎̅ḧ̴i̵̟͠r̸̫̓o̴̠̔, w̷̬͑h̶̻͂a̶̛̘t̵̛̩ ḓ̸̛o̵̦̓ w̵̞̿e̷̞̽ ̸̩̏d̵̗̈́õ̵̪?̷̬̓”

Another voice, ever quieter, replied. “̷͈̑H̷̳̀ò̸̗̰͝ḻd̵͖͒͊ õ̵̺n̴̗̦͝,̶i̵̩̫͒́ť̶͓͍̒ lo̷̩͑̄ō̷͕̲͝k̷̛̪͕̽s̸̜̒̑ li̷̲k̴̹̂e̵̝͕̾̈́ ̷̢̩̎ t̵̢͆h̵̭̯ê̵̖y̶'r̵̢͍͐͝ĕ̴͖ ŵ̵̖o̷̰̘̿ȓ̸̭̊k̶̞̊̚i̷̦͒n̷͇͋ͅğ̴̨̊ i̸̢̢̋ť̴̮ ŏ̷̧̝̚ư̴͍ť̶?̷̧̠͐"

When the Princess looked up, the tears stuck to her lashes but did not line her cheeks. Her hands were balled into fists to the point where she was white-knuckled, and she shook her head furiously from side to side.

“You’re alive and that’s what matters. Are you sure they can be trusted?”

“I mean, no,” he said with a small smile. “But I _want_ to trust them. Why don’t we at least see what they’re doing here before you unleash your hell-hath-no-fury on them?”

[ **Um** ], Fuzzy said, and the Prince glanced over his shoulder. Allura’s eyes narrowed distrustfully, but she did not move to reactivate her weapon. [ **I’m not fluent in Galran... but I can help speak, er… _explain_ , I think? A little?**]

The siblings met eyes, and Lance hoped his pleading gaze was transparent enough to convince her how much he wanted this, heck, maybe even how much he _needed_ it. The Prince had always craved social interaction, it was one of things he did best, keeping his social circle wide and judgements low. As of late, however, when he thought about how Olric or Quinn, Yuelia or Irani or Pastar, all of his friends, his favorite maids and chummy cup-bearers — about how _everyone was dead_ — it was pure _poison_ in the back of his throat, choking him and consuming him like lavender fire from the inside out, the searing reminder that he and Allura and Coran were _alone,_ and the weight of that reality was crushing, seismic and tectonic and enough to surely cause him to crack and fissure if he allowed it.

This was a chance for something, some sort of contact — even if it was with aliens, one of which was at least half-belonging to a murderous race that wanted them dead.

She let out a grim chuckle and sighed, shoulders slumping. _Lions help her_.

“Fine, bring them in. I imagine the Red Lion will try to go to the hangar once they’ve left her alone. Coran’s trying to find the translators now.”

Lance frowned, arms crossed. He looked back to Red and already knew that was going to be a problem.

The castle was running on the minimal, al biet steady, power that slowly trickled from the crystal, and they hadn’t used it for anything more intensive than what the Prince had been doing recently in the training room. Blue had been wormholed directly into her hangar, and Black had been there since before they even arrived on Arus. She couldn’t get in unless the Overseer opened the doors to the hangar, or at the very least unlocked them.

Well, one problem at a time. Red would be fine for a few dobosh on her own.

The Prince redirected his attention to the Galra, who was still half-sitting half-standing awkwardly, and pursed his lips. He could hear his sister’s clipped shoes already walking in the direction of the wing of the castle that he knew held her preferred conference room for diplomatic meetings.

He cleared his throat, and made sure to speak slowly for Fuzzy’s benefit. **[I am sorry. That is my sister Allura. She wants you all — ]** he gestured to each of them individually, trying to remember his own lessons in statesmanship. _Make sure everyone feels included!_ His tutors had never mentioned possibly de-aged alien children, but eh, ‘everyone’ was ‘everyone’. **[To come in. This is our home. We have translator technology, but we are trying to find it now. Do you understand?]**

Patiently, he waited while Fuzzy slowly nodded his head, his eyes transfixed on Lance’s face for some reason, like it was a puzzle and he was trying to figure out where the pieces fit. He took a moment to translate, or what the Prince hoped was a translation, of what he said to the rest of their group. Many tongue-heavy words were exchanged on whatever Fuzzy told them, and Lance did his best not to turn up his nose. He shouldn’t judge their language; Altean probably sounded strange to them, too.

Finally, after much tittering from Bandana and a shrug from Child and Fuzzy, the soft-spoken one with the scar on his nose, who Lance had to assume was the leader by the way he made the decisive call, nodded. They held a hand out in front of them that Lance took to mean _lead the way_ , at which he smiled and gladly did just that.

He walked a little slower than he normally would to allow for them to… well, oogle would be the right word he supposed. Bandana and Child especially seemed awed at the castle architecture, and Lance allowed himself to feel a swell of pride. This was his childhood home, and it had been decaphoebs since they’d hosted anyone. This wasn’t exactly a conventional ‘tour of the castle’, but the opportunity to put the beautiful fusion of aesthetic and function that Father so prided himself on display was at least a little satisfying.

 **[What is your name?** ] Fuzzy asked suddenly, and _whoops_! His tutors were definitely turning over in their space-graves now. ( _Morbid? Yeah, maybe a little. He was doing his best, okay?_ )

The Prince chuckled and scratched the back of his head, sheepish as he waiting at the end of the hall while Child ran their hands over a display console. Leader looked very tired with them, and Bandana just looked confused. It was just him and Fuzzy, whose purple eyes look shockingly bright beneath the overhead lights.

He felt himself fluster slightly, but maintained his composure.

 **[Forgive me. My name is Lance and…** ] Involuntarily, the Prince nearly began to use his title, the urge being deeply ingrained, but, he wasn’t the Prince of quiznak anymore, now was he? Instead he bit his lip before asking the same question, just as slowly. **[What is your name?]**

Child adjusted the metal goggles that sat on their face as they caught up with them.“W̶̨͝h̷̪̱́â̸̛̬ţ̶̟̊͗'s̶͔̦͐̾ ḥ̷̿͝ē̷̫̗̽ s̵̛̱ằ̵̢̫ŷ̷̰i̸͎̪̓͝ṅ̵͓͝ǧ̷̝̗͒?̴̧̙͗”

“Ḩ̴̞̊̓e̸̢̅̂ j̵̳us̶͔͒ͅt̴̻͒̕ i̷͔ň̷̳̬t̸̃̿ͅr̴̞͒o̷͕͎d̶̫̽̄u̸̦ć̴̞ẻ̴̟d̴̫̝̒̃ h̴̯̑į̵m̸̼̂̔s̴͎̲͊́ẽ̴͕̼l̸̪̈́f̵͓͒. Híș̶̺̈́̌ ň̵͖â̸̦͉m̷̻͑ḛ̸̤̎ i̸͕̅s̴̡͇͘ **Ḻ̷̓a̴̜͆̎ǹ̷͈̺c̷̫̳̿͋e̷̙͇**... ̶̜̉̎I t̶͎̎̏ͅh̸í̸̥̻n̶̬̱̈k̵̙̜͗͠.̶͔̌͝,” replied the hybrid, and Lance smiled and nodded encouragingly. He didn’t understand a ruggle of what was being said, but he heard his name, and that was a good sign.

Now that he was standing right next to Fuzzy, Lance found another glaringly obvious sign that this was not a full-blooded Galra. He was just _barely_ taller than Lance, while most Galra dwarfed him by at least two heads. Granted, Fuzzy might not be full-grown — his features suggested maybe he was a teenager — but even as teens, Galra tended to tower over many races.

The Prince found this height similarity... oddly endearing.

**[My name is Keith.]**

Fuzzy — er, Keith — extended a hand between them, and Lance blinked at it for a few ticks before remembering, oh, right, he’d studied cultures like this. A handshake was not an uncommon greeting in many corners of the universe.

 **“** Keith.” Lance repeated, and the other smirked and nodded. Fuzzy-Keith. Huh. Nice. Lance reached out to accept the handshake, but when he did, he gasped the moment their fingers brushed against each other and jerked his arm back.

Like a lense coming into focus from one of the sentry cameras, the Prince felt like some sort of mirage had been cast away. His lungs inhaled the sweet scent of smoke and his throat choked on invisible, warm ash, nonexistent embers sparking from Keith’s fingertips and burning the Prince’s hand in a dastardly pleasant way, as if Lance had just lowered himself into a scalding hot spring and the natural and untamed fire was scorching his skin. Though the touch was fleeting, the sensation was so intense that Lance was certain he’d just been burned by something akin to passion and fury and _danger_.

His own hands were left shaking from the sudden impulsive need to reach out and do it _again_ , tempt the flames, stoke the coals and see how long he could press until he couldn’t take it anymore and would burn himself through to his soul.

_Red._

“Oh my stars,” his mouth fell open, and this time when he felt _it_ , there was no mistaking the pull for one of empathic connectedness or some strange sentimental nonsense his own loss. He could _feel_ her life force, _bonded_ to _him_ , resonating with smug approval that she’d not only found her paladin on her own, but she’d opened a wormhole all by herself to get him here. No one needed to tell him that for Lance to know that she’d done it, because he could _feel it_.

Keith was the Red Paladin.

_Holy quiznak._

That wasn’t even the strangest part about this, and, let him tell you, that was _pretty quiznaking hard to accept_ considering if someone told him last movement that a fluffy-eared Galra hybrid named Keith would replace his father, _Alfor, King of Altea_ , as the Red Paladin, he would have laughed and recommended you stop hitting the hinterbush. No, this meant something even _more_ un-quiznaking-believable.

When Father had constructed the Lions, he’d built them first tied to his own life force, and then bound it to the title of Overseer of the Castle of Lions to be passed on when he would die. Seeing as the Voltron Lions and the Castle were bonded by their quintessence, it made sense that the one operating the Castle, the one who resonated and replenished and called out to the crystal at its core, should be the one to whom the Lion’s should draw their life force, and at the time, Lance had thought nothing of it as it was always something that was supposed to be Allura’s duty anyways. The Heir was to be the Overseer, not the Vanguard. _She_ was supposed to be the one with the metaphysical pull between five sentient magical beings _and_ the castle, the source of thrumming spirit that gave the palace its power and Voltron its purpose.

Not him. The Vanguard was just a title.

He had no idea what _this_ meant.

And yet, he knew _exactly_ what it meant, in a way, because he could already feel the nettling at the core of his soul of five other presences, things that had never been there before. It was like the moment of recognition when remembering a word that was on the tip of your tongue — the heaviness he’d felt for days was _them_ , was this _bond_ on his mind, body, and soul.

From that bond, he felt five distinctive threads. Two cried for their solitude, the loss of their pack. One was overjoyed by their own recent achievements. Two lay in mourning, quietly awaiting for a new paladin to find them since their own had left this world.

It explained so much, how had he not seen it sooner? The way he’d managed the castle systems without having to think about it. Knowing Blue was not meant for him the moment he’d walked into her hangar, the one-way bond he’d felt in spite of that knowledge. The blind call that had pulled him fearlessly to these strangers. The title of Overseer had claimed him, or he claimed it by mistake, or some stupid space frequency jittered up the magical bonds that were supposed to send the title to Allura or _something —_ but it explained exactly why his physical body had felt so trained as it tried to adjust to the spiritual weight of — of _Voltron,_ _within_ him.

He could feel all of it, because it was _bound to him._

Blinking rapidly, Lance realized he was staring at Keith like he’d just seen the face of God. Honestly, it was a pretty close comparison as far as metaphysical, mind-altering epiphanies went. His face was glowing — not in blush, well, maybe — but he could feel his scales pulsing lightly in time with his racing heart.

Child was squinting up at him from her tip-toes. “D̵i̸d̵ y̵o̵u̶ b̶re̶a̴k̵ h̴i̴m̶?̶”

"W̸h̴a̴t̸ d̷i̵d̴ ̷y̴o̷u̵ ̸d̴o̴, **̴K̶e̵i̸th**?̴” Leader said, and the Prince’s lip twitched in recognition of Keith’s name. This was so quiznakin’ weird.

Those big ears puffed up and flickered in time with a petulant scowl from the hybrid, who shot Leader a glare. “̷N̴o̶t̶h̷i̶n̶g̶!̸ I̸ j̸u̵s̸t̷ i̷n̵t̷r̷o̴d̵u̶c̷e̸d̷ m̴y̸s̵e̷l̴f̸ a̵n̴d̷ I s̷h̸o̷o̷k̶ h̵i̴s̷ h̸a̶n̵d̷ a̵n̶d̴ h̸i̷s̵ ̸f̵a̵c̶e̶ j̵u̵s̴t̷ ̷s̶t̵a̸r̴t̴e̴d̵... s̶t̶a̸r̵t̵e̴d̶ g̵l̷o̵w̵i̵n̵g̸!̵”

“̵O̴h,̷ m̶a̸y̵b̸e̴ h̴e̸ l̴i̸k̷e̵s̸ ̶y̴o̴u̶,̵m̶a̴y̴b̴e̵ ̴t̸h̷a̷t̶'̷s̵  h̴o̴w̷ a̷l̴i̷e̷n̸s̵ ̵b̷l̷u̶s̶h̶?̵” Child rubbed her chin.

Fuzzy-Keith shot back, clearly annoyed, “̵S̷h̷u̴t̸ ̸u̶p̷,̷ ̴P̸i̷d̷g̵e̴.̷”

Bandana bounced restlessly on the balls of his feet, speaking much too fast in the tongue and it made the Prince wince. “̸D̵o̷ ̶y̶o̴u̸ ̶t̶h̵i̴n̸k̵ ̷h̷e̵'̴s̷o̵k̴a̵y̷?̵ ̷H̵e̴'̸l̷l̶ ̷b̶e̶o̷k̷a̴y̷,̴ r̵i̶g̷h̸t̵?̶ ̷I̴f̸ h̸e̵'̵s̵ ̵n̵o̸t̸ ̶o̵k̷a̵y̴, t̸h̴a̸t̶ ̶s̷c̷a̸r̴y̶ ̵w̶h̸ip̸-̸l̴a̶d̶y̵ l̴o̴o̴k̸e̸d̸ r̴e̴a̸d̷y̶ ̴t̷o̶ m̸u̶r̸d̶e̷r̶ **̴K̶e̵i̸th,** s̶o̸o̶o̶.̸.̷.̸”

“Sorry, I…” Lance shook his head before scrubbing a hand down his face. More intentionally, he said, **[I am sorry. I realized something important. Let us go — my sister is waiting.]**

Without waiting for a response, because the Prince was caught somewhere between jittery excitement sprinkled with new-found purpose and gut-wrenching terror at the realization of the _massive_ amount of responsibility suddenly tagging along on his shoulders with his cape, Lance basically booked it the rest of the way to the conference room.


	3. From Strangers to Paladins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Lance enjoys the view, Allura is struggling between being concerned and proud, Keith does not like being referred to as _Fuzzy_ , and Shiro, Pidge, and (a reluctant) Hunk accept their titles as the remaining Paladins and the team sets to work on finding those lions. 
> 
> Also, Lance really wants to understand how to use the word _fuck_ properly and it is 100% Keith's fault.

When the Prince finally threw open the door to the conference room, he spotted his sister sitting at the head of the table, doing her best to look regal and intimidating. If the look wasn’t so effective, Lance might have laughed.

Instead, he scrambled up beside her and lowered into his seat, taking her hands in his. Her eyes went wide with surprise. “Allura — Allura, something, I need to — oh my god, _Sister,_ I’ve found the _Red Paladin_.”

“Brother, please, take a deep breath. So it's as Coran suspected? One of… _these,”_ she spoke through a tight smile as four unsure aliens walked in after Lance. “May be the Red Paladin?”

“No, no, I’m _sure_ of it — Allura, I felt her. Red. I felt Blue before, too, but I thought I was just imagining things cause I was upset, you know? But no, this was — gods, sis, I can’t even explain it. _I’m the Overseer of the Castle_. I can _feel_ all of the Lions. They’re connected to me.”

Her jaw had dropped by the time he was finished, neither of them even paying attention to the four people who had taken their seats awkwardly around the table. Leader sat across from Lance, Child beside him. Keith sat beside Lance, presumably because he was the only one who could actually communicate with them, and on his far side sat Bandana, who was bouncing their leg in a way that just exuded anxiety.

“Y-You’re… _Are you absolutely sure?_ ” She had fiercely gripped him by the shoulders, mouth pressed firm. There was something sparkling in her gaze, like she equally found newfound hope in the situation, and it made him want to hug her and twirl around because _finally_ , something good was happening for them. “I hadn’t felt anything besides Blue — I was so worried, I thought, what if the others were lost? I was so scared, Lance, _gods_ this is… It makes so much sense, too.  Of course it would be you. _You’re_ the one with the heart of gold.”

“Don't forget the hot one,” Lance tagged on, unable to help himself. He was wired right now, and, in his defense? His _literal soul_ was reverberating with a chorus of something so much bigger than himself. Voltron was the best hope the universe had, and it was _that hope_ that filled his heart with white-hot fire.

She snorted and promptly let him go. “In your dreams, baby brother. Now, which one is the Red Paladin?”

“Keith.”

The Galra jumped beside him, tensing up as Lance spun to face him. [ **You were the one to pilot the Red Lion here?]**

**[Um. Slower… could you please?]**

“Where is Coran with those quiznaking translators…” The Princess muttered, and Lance had to bite down the urge to snicker.

He sent his sister a look, however, and added, “It is definitely him, though. The Red Paladin. I’m 100% positive.”

Lance shook his head, and with a smile, patiently explained himself to the hybrid. **[I am sorry. We are trying to get the translator now. In the meantime, can you try to tell us why you are here? How did you get here? Who are all of you?]**

Leader and Bandana both said a few words, directed to Keith, and Lance felt a pang of sympathy for his very apparent frustration. The Prince knew just shy of six-hundred languages fluently, and about twice as many well-enough to get by at the level it seemed Keith had of Galran. It was terribly annoying to try to conjugate and interpret and respond back and forth.

While he translated some slippery nonsense to his alien companions, the Prince sat back in his chair and… watched.

The most, uh, _evident_ thing that grabbed his attention was the... extremely _well-fitting_ undergarment Keith was currently wearing. It resembled the bodysuit worn beneath the paladin’s armor; Lance assumed it was probably similar to some variety of space suit that the man had lost along the way.

Not that he was complaining, because, _dear Oriande_ , what a sight it was.

The material flirted with different shades of black, which accentuated his… _trim_ figure, leaving little to the imagination when it came to his muscled torso and arms, which, good on _you_ Galra genes. _Very_ good on you. There was something slightly, hmm, annoying about the way it hugged his collar bones, dipping into the skin and pulling taut over his shoulders, as it was mocking the Prince, like: _oh, look at me, I’m half-Galra, but, look! I’m also really sexy, so, sucks for you._

The Prince’s face felt a little pink he realized what he was doing, stupidly unable to look away as he drank in this welcome development in the day’s already weird series of events.

So what if Fuzzy-Keith was at least part of the murderous race who had destroyed almost everything he held dear? That didn’t mean Lance wasn’t at least going to _appreciate_ it if the man beside him was attractive. Quiznak, he’d have to be blind not to notice.

When he turned his gaze back up to Lance, his brow furrowed and he looked from the Prince to his sister, like he was unsure which of them to address.

**[We are from the… uh, our home is from Earth. We call ourselves ‘human’. Well, they do. I’m... half-human. We came in here in the Red… Cat… Ship?]**

**[Lion.]** The siblings corrected in unison, locking gazes for a moment. A similar twinkle of life danced in their similar, yet so very different, blue eyes.

**[Red Lion, then. We were… uh, hurt? A big Galra ship hurt our home. They were searching for the Red Lion, I think. We moved away, but they might have followed… This is Shiro,]** he pointed to the one with the white-tuft of hair. **[He was hurt by the Galra. His arm…]**

The Prince and Princess both winced simultaneously when Keith instructed them where to look, and Lance immediately felt bad for his reaction — the human, Shiro, gazed down at his wrist sadly, where the clear workings of a druid had had their way with him. The purple outline of the prosthetic had gone unnoticed by the Prince before, but now that he’d spotted it, it felt like a vortex sucking in his attention.

**[I am very sorry.]** Allura said, directed at Shiro, and in the slight lag-time it took Keith to translate Lance watched his earlier haunted expression soften. He nodded his head and said nothing, but the sentiment was understood.

**[Uh, she is Pidge, her brother and father was hurt also by the Galra.]** The smallest of them, whom Lance was surprised to discover was female, gave them a grim look and said nothing.

Keith cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, giving Lance and Allura a clear vantage point of Bandana. **[His name is Hunk. He… got into the problem with Pidge by mistaken.]**

Allura let out a little huff of surprised laughter, and Lance had to smile at the way Bandana-Hunk fidgeted. No wonder he was so nervous if he was here by total accident. Poor guy. Lance sent him what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, which seemed to be well-received by the larger man, whole anxiously returned the smile with one of his own.

**[And you know me.]** Keith finished with his brows raised.

Lance bit back the urge to flirt — _Not nearly as much as I'd like to, Fuzzy —_ and replied, **[Not really, just your name.]**

**[Same to you. We want to know more before tell you additional information.]**

Allura nodded and leaned back in understanding. She seemed willing by Lance’s judgement, but simply unsure of where to begin.

Frankly, so was he. This was made no easier by the fact that there was a distraction curling over the base of his spine, a chill that grew to a shiver; there was something slightly... _off,_ a feeling that had him almost jumpy with anticipation.

Actually, not _almost jumpy_. He physically leapt back in his chair when Coran finally arrived, startling all of the humans and Keith, the man’s eyes wide as he looked around at the many foreign faces before settling on the two familiar ones.

The Princess was standing, a warning hand in the directions of both Shiro and Keith, who had leapt up at the potential threat. **[Wait! This is our friend. Please stop.]**

“Ah, er, I found the communicators, they should have enough translation technology to make some sense of what is going on...” Coran began wearily as the two sank back down into their seats, casting a look between the man and the royal siblings. “For now the best we can do is just hook them on like ear pieces, but if I have a few varga to tinker I could probably convert them to some sort of insert. That’s the newest rage these days, you know.”

Lance rolled his eyes because, first of all, _no_ , Coran, _don’t ever use that terminology again,_ and two, _thank the stars_ because anymore of this and the Prince was sure he was going to lose his damn mind.

He took one from the advisor and held it out to Keith, dropping it in a purple palm. The hybrid stared at it like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not.

**[The translator?]** Lance urged. **[Put it on.]**

**[...How?]**

“Stupid fluffy-eared Galra,” the Prince muttered and snatched the device back. It was made to rest on the inside of the ear, with a separate part that rested outside and against the lobe of the ear, exposed just enough that it could easily be removed if someone so desired. Without thinking, he turned himself ninety-degrees in his seat so he was facing Keith and grabbed the Galra’s jaw, his stupid _pointed_ jaw, angling his head to face Child-Pidge across the table. The touch of his skin was still tantalizingly like fire, the same burn from earlier without the heavy weight of the epiphany scaring the ever-living quiznak out of him. Delicately, he brushed some of the mess of hair away from his ridiculous, furry ear and gently guided the little device to rest on the base of the canal. And _no_ , he did _not_ purposefully let his hand linger to see if the fur was as addictingly soft and fluffy as it looked. Nope. Didn’t happen.

“There. Can you hear me?” He spoke softly, letting Keith’s hair fall back into place. A flattering shade of purple had flushed his cheeks, and only then did Lance remember how sensitive Galra’s ears were. “Oh, oh I’m sorry, I hope that wasn’t —”

“No, no,” Keith said, the words mercifully translated to Altean. “I just — no, it’s fine. No big deal.”

Hesitantly, one-by-one, the others around the table put the devices into their ears in the way that Lance had, _ahem_ , totally demonstrated with Keith for educational purposes _only_.

“I feel we can make our introductions properly this time,” the Princess said with a sigh, standing and pushing her weight off the table. Lance rose with her automatically, and Coran stiffened.

The others remained seated, confused, before Shiro’s eyes widened and he scrambled up.

“Stand up, stand up! They’re royalty, remember?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Pidge said, laughing at their leader’s chagrin.

“That’s a word our translators don’t seem to pick up on,” Coran twirled his mustache with interest. “What is this, ‘ _shit’_?”

At that, the little one became positively _gleeful_ with laughter, and Keith had covered his mouth with a hand to keep from laughing. Hunk pushed his lips together and shook his head, while Shiro looked mortified.

“It’s a — a curse word. Very inappropriate, Pidge.” He glared at her before turning back to Lance and Allura who looked on in mild amusement. “We’re sorry, your Highness and… your Highness? Your Highnesses?”

The Prince shrugged and took his seat, signaling everyone else to do the same. Allura’s formalities got tiring after a while, along with their titles. “I don’t really care. Most people just call me Lance or Prince Lance, but if you must, your Highness is fine. Don’t do plurals, though,” he instructed towards Shiro, wrinkling his nose. “That just seems weird.”

The man looked deeply worried that he had offended them, and the big sister-diplomat stepped up to metaphorical bat.

“I will answer to any of those titles as well, Princess, Allura, or simply your Highness. Now, with that all cleared up, let’s try again? Hopefully with less confusion this time.”

Lance looked around at the faces of the three humans, eyes varying from intense to contemplative as his sister launched into her redundant introduction. He was half-distracted as a rapid and restless sort of knowledge burgeoned over his consciousness, the threads of _something_ in the room tugging at his strings like a marionette. What _was_ that? It was something metaphysical, surely, because no one else seemed to have noticed.

“I am Princess Allura, this is my brother, Prince Lance, and the Royal Family’s top advisor, Coran Smythe. We are from the Planet Altea. Have any of you heard of it?”

All of them shook their head, so the Princess let out a large breath.

“Very well. I will skip the long part of the story, as I am much more interested in hearing yours. A war has been raging on for quite some time, and judging by what Keith has shared regarding your arm, and your family,” she addressed Shiro and Pidge, not bothering to pause even as they each flinched. “You are all at least somewhat familiar with what the Galra are capable of.”

There was a chorus of shrugs and nods. Shiro swallowed roughly and gave Keith a pointed look before taking the conversational reins.

“I was a prisoner of Zarkon’s for a year, actually. I only just escaped a few days ago. Keith and I have been like family for a long time, but I was abducted along with Pidge’s brother and father on an exploration mission. These three managed to track what had happened, at least enough to remotely hack into the cruiser I was being held on. It was long enough for me to escape. I ended up back on Earth but was taken briefly for questioning and examination... Keith got me out of there before much happened, though.”

The Red Paladin squirmed slightly in his seat. “I owe a lot of it to Pidge and Hunk. Pidge and I were searching for months for more information on who took you guys, and that’s how I picked up the Galra language. I didn’t know at the time that _I_ was _Galra_. I’ve only started to… _present…?_ In the past few years, and Earth hasn’t had any contact with alien life before, so I’ve had to lay low. It wasn’t until we were able to trace Shiro’s last location that we found out some of what was happening. We didn’t know they were… that I’m… one of them.”

The royals listened quietly, intently, trying to understand in spite of some of the cultural gaps. They certainly got the gist, and when Pidge slammed a fist down on the table, Lance was rather inclined to agree with her righteous anger.

“You are _not_ like them, Keith. Just because you look a certain way doesn’t make you one of _them_.”

Keith smiled gratefully towards the girl, who looked like she was ready to attack the Alteans if they dared disagree. No one made any such declaration, so she slumped back into her chair and took over their story.

“Hunk and I are students at a school that prepares people to travel and study space. Our planet’s technology is… infinitely far behind yours, judging from the looks of this place, so we’re really only just starting to learn what is — and who is — out there. Keith and I managed to decode and translate a lot of the messages that were going on within range of our planet, and I recruited Hunk here once we got stuck on some energy readings. _He_ had the genius idea to reverse engineer a fraunhofer line,” she paused to smile proudly at her friend, who gave a bashful chuckle. “And it led us to the Red Lion. The — _it_? _It_ opened for Keith, which like, go alien Keith and all, but when we were in Earth’s solar system, one of those Galra battle cruisers like the one Shiro was kept on was heading towards Earth.”

Down the table from Lance, he noticed Hunk shift in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he frowned at the table. “And, there was this, I dunno, mind-meld moment when Keith found the lion where like, we all had this shared vision? Of a giant mechanical robot cat-man?”

“ _Voltron_ ,” Allura breathed the name, and all four of the others nodded vigorously. So they shared the same vision, then. At the group consensus, Lance felt that same tremor from earlier play over the notches in his vertebrae, like an outside force of will was trying to loop through him and around him and it was _confusing_. He decided to fall away from the conversation for a moment, following that sensation outward and away from him.

A gentle hum of quintessence radiated through the castle, circling in and around them from the walls to the engines to the lights in the ceiling. Normally, it was little more than spiritual white noise, background energy, the space provided a sort of hub for control and influence of the more abstract aspects of existence.

_Energy. Beliefs. Purpose. Flow. Balance._ So what _was_ this feeling that was outside of that flow?

“Yeah, Voltron.” Hunk continued sounding starstruck, though this went unheard by the Prince. “And the Red Lion got the Galra ship to stop heading towards Earth but it followed us and was attacking us. It opened up a flippin’ portal in _space-time,_ and here we are… hah. I think I might be delirious from dehydration or something. Cause did I really just say all that?”

“You did throw up, like, three times, so you might _actually_ be dehydrated” Pidge pointed out, and Keith scowled about that. Red was _his_ , not that he even understood why he was possessive over something that didn’t even make sense to him, but the fact that Hunk had _actually_ thrown up inside of her made him very upset.

Shiro just shook his head and turned back to the siblings.

“That’s how we came to be here, Prince, Princess. I remember hearing the name Voltron while I was in their… it’s a weapon? They were looking for it, I think.”

The Princess’s expression tightened, and she tried to catch her brother’s eye to no avail. Lance's focus was distant, staring at the table. She assumed he was still trying to  processing this information.

“I am not surprised,” she spoke on their behalf. “It’s the single most powerful being in the known universe, and the only thing that can defeat Zarkon. He wants it because he _fears_ it.”

At the mention of Zarkon’s name, Lance snapped back out of his reprieve and blinked around. He was continually brought back to this room in search of the anomaly anyways, so he supposed it didn’t matter that his focus had been broken.

“And the Lions are part of the Voltron mega-robot?” Pidge perked up, clearly interested. “Where are the others?”

The two siblings’ posture went noticeably tense. With a sigh, the Prince sent his sister a _let’s-get-this-over-with_ look as he diligently took the floor.

“Let me start a little further back, I think it’ll help make sense… The planet we are on now is called Arus. The Princess, Coran, and myself were supposed to attend a celebration just a little over a movement ago hosted on Altea, but our Father, King Alfor, instructed us to make sure the Black Lion was safely stowed off planet, which is how we came to end up on this planet. It’s currently held in the castle. Normally, only our Father could fly the castle, but together we’re able to manage without him.”

He paused, brow drawn together for a moment. Would he be able to power it on his own now? Was his acknowledgment of his connection to the Lions and the castle enough, or would it be too much of a strain?

One thing at a time, he supposed, clearing his throat.

“The ceremony was to formalize a peace treaty with the Galra in hopes to put an end to this war that it sounds like your people have gotten swept up in. In signing the treaty, ideally, we planned to move towards freeing any prisoners who were taken under their control.”

Shiro and Pidge both shared a faint look before returning their attention to the Prince, who was sitting back in his seat, steeling himself with practiced impassivity.

“We didn’t end making it off Arus in time for when the celebration was set to start, and as it happened, Altea was essentially turned into a bomb. It, our people, along with many foreign dignitaries and the previous paladins of Voltron were trapped on the planet and completely destroyed.”

As if the castle had waited for him to finish, holding off for dramatic effect, a blaring alarm went off a few ticks after the Prince had finished speaking. Everyone in the room flinched, some more violently than others, and Coran already had a screen up on the center of the table doing an assessment.

“What the fuck is that?” Keith’s ears were pressed low, likely sensitive to the loud blaring. Coran silenced the noise a moment later, at which Lance raised an amused brow.

“I’ll tell you, _if_ you tell me what a _fuck_ is.”

Hilariously, Keith looked like he was ready to die, and it only urged Lance on. “Come on! You can’t say 'fuck' and not tell us what it means!”

“I — I don’t — _Shiro?_ “ The hybrid look in terror across the table, the older man’s visage slightly disoriented by the holographic projection Coran had optimized for all of them to see.

The advisor spoke up before Lance got his answer, much to the Prince’s annoyance. He wouldn’t forget that one — _fuck_. The chagrin at which it elicited from the Red Paladin was enough to at least keep him interested.

“It’s a Galra battleship, it looks like they’ve targeted our energy signature.”

At least one curse word in all the primary languages of those at the table was uttered.

“How did they find us?” The Princess demanded, and she shot Lance a look like it was _his_ fault.

He scoffed and looked away. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t do anything.”

“Like welcome four complete strangers into our castle?”

“He’s the Red Paladin!” Lance flailed his arms in protest. “Of course I was going to welcome him in!”

“Why didn’t you mention it _before_ when we were outside, hmm?” The Princess’s eyes narrowed, and Lance wanted to roll his, because, _really_ , why _now_ Allura?

“Excuse me, could we get back to the giant death machine that is coming this way?” Hunk raised a hand politely, which quieted the bickering.

Annoyed, Lance ran a hand through his ponytail and flicked around the display with his hand, turning the cruiser over and around to give his best judgement.

While his knowledge of combat strategies was nothing compared to their Father, Vanguard entitled him to sit on any and all military discussions as he wanted. Top clearance, flonxers. Eat it.

“If they’re after a Lion, then its no holds barred. They’re going to come as fast as they can as hard as they can. I’d say we have a quintant, at most.”

Pidge adjusted her face goggles. “Quintant? That’s not a unit of measurement we have on Earth.”

“Uhh, about twenty varga? Give or take?”

They all stared back at him blankly.

“Oh, what, I don’t know!" Exasperated, he threw his hands up. "A turn of this planet's axis? Does that work?”

“Like, a _day_?” Keith asked, and it was said with such a way that implied that _Lance_ was the stupid one for not knowing _their_ stupid made-up Earth word.

Allura stood up from the table, and Lance’s own legs were automatically pushing him to stand as a response, but only after giving Fuzzy-Keith his best grimace. His older sister began addressing the table as a whole, and Lance’s attention drifted unintentionally out of focus once again, looking at the individual little beams that projected the Galran warship’s image in front of him. Each little dot of light was connected, a schematic, a blueprint, a ledger of rules and regulations on which the standard ship was crafted.

For some reason, Oriande knows why, he found the image _fascinating._

What’s more, his body felt _electrified_ the longer he stared at it, the earlier buzz of sensation that poked at his spine redoubling its efforts by prodding at his ribs, tugging him from side to side. To his left and his right, the responding energies of the Guardians of Water and Fire thrummed around him in a bizarre sort of balancing act. They were the right side of Voltron, the hot and the cold, the ice and the fire that stoked the winds of creation.

But what were these other feelings?

A slight familiarity, off to the other side of Fire, was something… comforting… or, trusting? It was the flavor of friendship without the depth of any sort of bond, like the ghost of a relationship that had once been there, and he felt it… strong, and sturdy. When had he felt it before?

It was a good feeling, whatever it was. He smiled dumbly at the hologram like it had just complimented his outfit. In a way, the tiny lights looked like stars, galaxies, even a whole tiny universe that happened to arrange into this specific pattern.

_Hunk._ That's where he'd felt the sturdy presence. _He helped Hunk stand up_.

“Lance? Lance, are you alright? What’s wrong?” Allura was shaking him by the shoulder, and he winced when he realized everyone was looking at him. The Prince had clutched the table and swayed on the spot, breathing heavily like he’d just run a marathon. Had he been about to pass out?

“I — I understand now. This is why Red was able to wormhole, that sort of thing would never happen unless — ah. And you shared that vision...” Lance rubbed his forehead, realizing he was sounding like a crazy person, but he stepped back from the table so he could see them all more clearly, see the whole picture with awe.

“ _Voltron_ ,” he murmured, and Keith’s ear flicked. The Prince wondered if the hybrid was able to hear him. “Everyone, please, come with me to the bridge. I’ll explain as we go. If Galra are on their way then we can’t waste any time.”

The Princess saw the sharpness in her baby brother’s fierce gaze and gave him a stern nod, trusting him to lead the way as Coran followed after Lance out of the room.

“Why does a castle need a bridge?” He heard Pidge whisper to someone from behind him.

The Prince tossed a few sage words over his shoulder “It’s a ship. A castleship, it flies, really _not_ important right now.”

“Brother would you at least slow down at little?” He heard his sister huff as she struggled to keep time with him. Hah. That’s what she gets for being shorter. “What is happening?”

“I told you, I’m the Overseer!” He smirked as the bridge came into sight, the satisfying feeling of the doors opening for him adding to the small shock of brilliance he felt in that moment — they always opened for him, that wasn’t _actually_ special. It just felt weirdly exhilarating. “Coran, I’m the _quiznaking Overseer of the Castle!_ I can _feel_ the Lions.”

“What a nice way to use such a dignified and well-meaning title,” his sister snarked.

Lance ignored her, and watched with enthusiasm as Coran’s gaze went from far away to very wide as he realized the implications of what Lance had told him.

Coran looked stunned. “You are — but I thought, Allura…?”

The Princess shook her head with a patient smile. “No, it is certainly Lance. He only just realized once he met Keith.”

Behind them, the Earthlings gathered awkwardly around the rear doors.

The Galra muttered, “What are you saying about me?”

“She said you’ve got cute, fluffy ears, Keith,” Lance supplied dismissively, at which his sister smacked his arm.

“I said no such thing! No offense, of course. Your ears are… fine.”

“No problem, Princess.” The pout was audible in Keith’s voice when he directed the second part of his statement to the Prince. “And what is with _you_ and my ears?! Your’s are all pointy...”

Lance just ignored him, humming as he stepped up to the navigational dais.

_Oh, so he’s easy to annoy, huh? How fun._ With a smirk, the Prince carefully stored that information away for later.

“So what are we doing here, Princess? Lance?” Shiro urged, getting them back on track.

“Just let me try something,” Lance took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He heard the shuffling of feet and a few whispers around him, but when he exhaled and inhaled a second time, the sounds were gone. Each breath in and out was a release of another coil of tension that kept him attached to their plane of reality, each degree further away unwinding the arching limitations of space-time around him. The stars were his blood and the blackness of space was his body, the suns were his heart and the moons were his eyes. Reducing himself to these terms, a sacrifice of his pieces-parts, he reached and reached in search of those familiar calls, breathing in matter and letting out energy.

Unheard by the Prince, Hunk whispered between where Coran and Shiro stood.

“What is he doing? Why is he all… glowy?”

“Ah,” the advisor gave the boy a well-meaning wink. “Good question! You see, King Alfor tied the life force of the Castle of Lions and the lions themselves together. The one who operates and, well, in a sense is _one_ with the castle has the title of Overseer. It was intended to be Allura’s title, along with Heir, but it seems Lance has been the one to fill the role in his father’s place. His life force is connected to all of the lions, and he alone is the key to finding them.”

“Oh… so he’s… doing a magic-thing? Got it.” Hunk stated, some sort of mixture of disbelief and reluctant acceptance. He could deny as much as he wanted, but it didn’t stop what was happening around him from feeling very real.

To the side, Allura shifted her weight occasionally and watched the faces of those in the room intently. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Lance’s intuition on the matter; she certainly felt exactly nothing at all for any of these strangers, so if he was picking up some sort of connection to the Lions, then he was most definitely the Overseer after all. Besides, she really couldn’t deny the evidence standing literally _right in front of_ the castle, but there was just… _something_ about the group that made her feel… off, almost uncomfortable? Again and again, her eyes were drawn to the Red Paladin standing opposite her around the half-circle they’d formed around the bridge. There was just... _something_ in the way he _watched_ her baby brother that made her… ugh, she wasn’t even sure! It probably wasn’t fair, probably just a by-product of her own biased aversion to the monsters that had destroyed her family, but the Princess couldn’t help how she felt.

With effort, she tried to dismiss her judgements for the time being and focused on her brother once again.

After only a few ticks, but the suspense made it feel like _varga_ had passed, the Prince opened his eyes with a satisfied sigh. Around them, pushing outwards from the dais, was the map he’d been looking for, the coordinates laid out before them.

“ _Whoa_ ,” Pidge exhaled, stepping forward. “This is… _this is a map of the whole universe!_ ”

Lance shrugged. “More or less. Not counting the constant expansion. This is at least as far as we’ve been able to map.”

“So, according to this, the Black and Red Lions are all in the same place? Here, presumably? It looks like the Blue Lion is as well,” Pidge explained to herself, the others looking on in slight awe. For his part, as proud of a moment as it was to call forth the map, it was leaving him a little dizzy. Not weak, rather the opposite, in fact. He’d not been prepared for this and getting used to the castle’s quintessence in conjunction with his own was a tricky business, like using a weight that was ten times his own to move his arms and legs.

Coran bounced around between the constellations gleefully, nodding and saving the siblings the tedious task of explanation. “Look at your little Human neurons, firing off deductions left and right! That’s exactly correct. The remaining Yellow Lion and Green Lion must be in the castle along with the Red Lion and Blue Lion in order to release the Black one from King Alfor’s security measures. So, while the Black Lion _is_ here, it’s not exactly accessible at the moment.”

“Yes, and now with _you all_ here, we can finally get Black out of there and form Voltron!” Lance explained enthusiastically, his state of mind returning with some more confidence. “ _That’s_ why I needed to bring you all here. I suspected it when I realized why, when I helped Hunk stand up, I didn’t feel the same immediate reaction that I had felt with Fuzzy-Keith,”

“H-Hey! _Fuzzy_?” So-named Galra interrupted, but Lance ignored him.

“With the Blue and Red Lions, I was feeling _their_ presence, not the paladins. Your’s are like… echoes, to the Lion’s quintessence.” For dramatic effect, because the Prince was all about theatrics — it was perfect, because Allura and Keith were standing on completely opposite sides of the room — he pulled forward Blue and Red’s projected images from their place with Black and pushed one in each direction simultaneously.

“Allura, my sister, is the pilot of the Blue Lion, who needs a Paladin of fierce loyalty with unwavering determination,” he spoke evenly, punching down any bitter feelings at the moment as Blue soared and dove in the air, twirling around his sister with fluid grace. She smiled, cupping her hands as the projection came to rest in her palms. “And Keith, _somehow_ , has managed to wrangle the most temperamental of the Lions, Red. She’s strong and fast, but she’s also the most difficult to control.”

Similarly, the Lion in question darted from asteroid to meteor to planet to sun over the display of stars until it came to rest in front of its Paladin, roaring in pride.

“...Think you can handle it?” Lance couldn’t resist, raising a challenging brow in his direction. Keith’s attention flickered from the Lion to the Prince, a fire in those dark irises that Lance would swear could outburn the stars themselves.

_Confidence_ , the Prince thought. _Definitely a good look for him._

“I think I can manage.”

Clearing his throat, the Prince beamed and turned to the others. “And Red, bless her, brought you all here because _you are all the Paladins of Voltron_. You are the ones who are going to restore peace to the universe.”

Coran jumped in place, his face distorting a black hole in the projection, eyes glittering wide in the false galaxies. “ _These_ are the new paladins, your Highness? You’re _sure?_ ”

“I can’t explain how I know, but I just _know_ ,” Lance insisted. It was that feeling from earlier, a harmony, he realized, sparked for the first time once all the paladins were together. It was electricity and permafrost, dark miasma and grounding soil, tepid water and galeforce winds. It was searing heat and craggy caverns, infinite volcanoes and depthless oceans, organic life and inorganic matter bound together. Elements in tandem, unifying into a beautiful cacophony; instead of chaos, however, Lance heard melodies and laments and overtures, ballads and symphonies and refrains that blended together _perfectly._

“When I helped Hunk stand earlier, it didn’t register, but, now that I’m focusing, he has that same connection to the rocks and the earth — Hunk you’re _perfect_ for the Yellow Lion. I can already tell, you’re, like, going to be the best leg _ever!_ Sorry, sis. You’re the one who will keep the team’s spirits high and support everyone with steady, grounding patience. I imagine you’re the kind and caring type, the one who everyone will lean on at one time or another. Make sense?”

“...What, wait, Hunk as in _me_ -Hunk?” The newly dubbed Yellow Paladin pointed to themselves, eyes wide in horrifying realization.

The Prince wasn’t going to give him a chance to back out this, seeing as he clearly looked like he wanted to, and instead waved his hand and the Yellow Lion roared in its projection, bounding forward and doing a flip in the air as it came to stop before the dark-skinned boy. His eyes widened at the display, and quietly nodded as Yellow swatted at him playfully.

“Pidge, who is already clearly the smartest person in the room, is going to pilot the Green Lion. Green needs someone who can react and think on their feet, who can look at a situation and analyze it in seconds, you know? Someone who thinks _before_ they act, but isn’t afraid to _follow through_ on those actions. A Lion that can be underestimated because of her size, but can be positively destructive under the right set of circumstances”

Almost in amusement, the Green Lion allowed Lance to pull her back slightly towards him and launched her to Pidge like some sort of bizarre, quasi-planar slingshot. The girl snickered as Green bounded off space debris and into her paladin’s orbit, landing comfortably on her shoulder.

“Finally, that leaves the Black Lion. The Black Lion is, in a sense, the one who keeps everyone together. Someone that people can trust, who people not only _will_ follow, but someone others _want_ to follow. A leader. And that is definitely something that you’ve got, Shiro, so you’ll be piloting the Black Lion.”

The man’s brow was set in a line, and with a stern nod, he accepted the responsibility with great dignity. The exact sort of thing you’d expect from a Black Paladin, honestly.

Pleased, relieved, and more than a little overwhelmed, the Prince let out a large breath and put his weight down on the consoles again, letting the map retract back into nothingness while the spirit of the five lions roared in unison, bounding away from their respective place in the semi-circle and fusing, morphing, folding and tuning to each other’s frequencies, coming to form that same figure they purportedly saw in the shared vision, a figure Allura and Lance both knew well, a figure that Coran helped to build.

_Voltron._

“And that, my new friends, is how you’ll form Voltron. We're going to wipe Zarkon's stupid face from the universe.”

The room stood in resonant, dim silence, acceptance washing over each of them in different ways. Doubt and hope and wonder, all spiraling together into ribbons of motivation that fueled the fire of this monstrous responsibility thrust onto each of them individually and all of them as a collective.

At the navigation platform, the Prince’s weight sagged slightly. With his initial burst of adrenaline fading, his breathing had grown shallow and he was scowling at the floor.

“L-Lance! Lance, are you alright?” His sister was already trying to take his hands off the consoles but he held firm, legs wobbling.

“I’m fine, just a little... strained.” He panted out, holding her gaze. “This is a weird feeling and I just… need some time to adjust, I think. What’s important now is getting those other lions, Sister.”

The young woman’s attention flickered from each of his sharp blue eyes and, seeing the conviction there, did not argue. She turned to Shiro who gave her a responding, respectful nod.

“Alright, since we have two operable lions, it makes sense that we split up. Princess, why don’t you take the Blue Lion and go with Hunk; Keith, you’ll go with Pidge. I can stay with the Prince, or, depending on where the coordinates lead, I could come with one of the teams and assist.”

“I don’t need anyone to stay with me,” Lance said, eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

It was true, though his body was having a difficult time learning to accommodate to the fluctuating deliverance of the castle's power, he really didn’t feel physically ill. Maybe a little spacey, no pun intended, but it wasn’t so severe that he needed to lie down. The desire to lean his weight on the consoles at his sides was more of a reflex than anything, helping to give him back the quintessence he’d directly spent in explaining the lions and to these new paladins. Above him, the crystal’s regenerative properties fed through the consoles, and he could feel his energy levels returning to normal just by lightly tapping into those reserves.

Hunk chuckled nervously. “Wait, wow, this is really happening? What about bathroom breaks, or food? I could really pee right now. Or throw up again. I might do that, actually.”

“Please,” Keith sighed. “Please, don’t.”

“You can use the lavatory, you know. You just had to ask,” replied the Prince with a laugh, and the Yellow Paladin gazed at him gratefully. “You’ll need to change anyways if you’re going to do this. We might be aliens to you, but we’re not going to torture you and stop you from whatever it is you Humans do to relieve yourselves… _except you_.”

His gaze shifted to the Red Paladin, squinting distrustfully. Keith’s ears perked up in what Lance hoped was interest, but could just as easily been annoyance. “You can only go _after_ you tell me what a ‘fuck’ is.”

Pidge outright laughed, and even Hunk giggled a little. “I like this guy! Good memes.” Allura and Shiro merely appeared very tired, and Keith's face was once again that lovely shade of purple. Quiznak, it _was_ a nice sight, wasn't it? Lance was definitely going to enjoy getting a rise out of this one.

“Memes?” Coran replied, brightening at yet another word to add to his ever-expanding vocabulary. “That’s another new one for us, I believe.”

Lance nodded. "Memes, fuck, and shit. Am I missing any?"

Sounding very strained, his sister cleared her throat and tried to keep her tone from being overly frosty. “ _Lance_ , the coordinates? Could you put them in the Lions?”

“Oh. Yeah, heh,” he chuckled sheepishly, forgetting himself for a moment. Overseer, right, he had stuff to do. “Shiro, you should go with Allura and Hunk. Of the two planets, that one is closer to any of the nearest Galra occupations… well, that we have recorded anyway. The planet that holds the Green Lion is further from any of the dangerous zones and should be easier to navigate, so Keith and Pidge shouldn’t need the backup. I mean, hopefully _none_ of you need backup, but just saying.”

“Lance, are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” asked his sister, who had taken a step back from the platform but was still sizing him up pointedly. “If the Galra’s ship were to arrive early — ”

He sighed and drew himself up to full height, trying to emulate some of the usual authority that always seemed second nature to her.

“Sister, _please_. I’m not alone, I'm going to be here with Coran, and the faster you go, the faster you’ll get back. Blue chose _you_.” He reminded her, though he sounded awfully bitter without intending to. He cringed, but continued. “ _You_ have to be the one to do this. Voltron is the most important thing right now, you can worry about me later. Coran will give me a crash course of operating the castle’s defenses, yeah?”

They both glanced to the advisor who nodded smartly. With that, his sister’s worries had to be put to rest, even if she looked like she wanted to continue to at least pester him a little longer.

Hunk, weight alternating back and forth on his legs, began sounding off the situation and counting on his fingers. “Okay, just so I’m, uh, understanding this right — find the mechanical, weaponized space lions, come back to the magical prince at spaceship-castle, form giant robot-man, try not to get murdered by purple aliens? Am I missing anything?”

“Now, now, let’s be sensitive to the purple aliens in this room,” Pidge muttered under her breath, and Keith snorted.

“ _Thank you_ , Hunk,” the Prince nodded his direction. “It’s really not all that complicated. Now all of you get out of my castle! I’m tired of looking at you.”

With pursed lips, the Princess’s posture slumped as she conceded. “Very well. Let’s go then, the armor is this way, and you’ll all be receiving a bayard as well.”

“Bayard?” Shiro inquired, leading the others out after her.

“Oh, yes, the bayards are the weapons of the paladins. You see, each one takes a…” Coran babbled, and Lance listened to their voices trail off in the general direction where the secondary space suits and bayards were kept. They were lucky Father had the forethought to create a secondary set of the weapons after the loss of the black bayard; while there was no way to copy the exact energy of the original black paladin’s weapon, he made a pretty impressive recreation of the using the original schematics. At least, it _looked_ impressive. No one has been able to activate it since, so, Lance was anxious to see if Shiro has any success with it. As for the remaining bayards, the original models had been readily available for direct comparison, and the alchemists had no problem creating matching energy signatures once there was something to go off of.

As for the original five bayards, Oriande only knows what happened to them. Probably reduced to dust, like everything else.

The Prince chose to stay on the bridge, taking a few deep breaths before walking down to the control panels. He activated the sentries again and, sure enough, the Red Lion was seated right where they’d left her, dutifully awaiting her paladin’s return.

So this _Keith_ guy is the Red Paladin, huh? He must be a decent pilot, because, at least superficially, he seems to have very little in common with King Alfor in terms of disposition. The Red Lion would only allow someone truly worthy to fly with her, a rite of passage in terms of respect. Lance was certainly interested to see what sort of potential he had hidden beneath that messy head of hair if he had gained Red’s approval.

With a sigh, the Prince opened Red’s hangar and watched as she took off; it only made sense that the new paladins get used to boarding in their hangars, right? Besides, this way, he was able to restore the particle barrier which was a _must_ now that they’d been found by the Galra. He didn’t know two ruggles about operating the particle barrier besides the fact that it was ‘on’ or it was ‘off’. The intuition helped him to know in a sense _what_ he was supposed to do, but not _how_ he was supposed to do it — what buttons to press, what screens to keep up to monitor their energy levels — that sort of thing. Hopefully the other’s moved quickly and he and Coran could get started.

His eyes moved to two other screens, those with Blue and Black in their respective resting spots. Blue’s demeanor no longer seemed outwardly dejected and mournful, seated upright and waiting patiently for Allura to come to her.

_Please keep her safe_.

Lance knows Blue would sooner get herself stubbornly trapped on a collapsing planet before she abandoned her paladin — he saw it firsthand — but watching his sister take off in her, out into another part of the universe on the other side of a wormhole… that thought still made him anxious. He never liked sitting and waiting; he craved the adrenaline and the firefight that accompanied battle. The time he’d spent training for actual _fighting_ , in addition to his more royal responsibilities, had long since ingrained in him the desire to protect, to watch his team’s back. He had always expected that role would be one he would fill, well, more figuratively — maybe with his rifle, a finger feather-light over the trigger, breathing down the scope as he waited for the chance to take down an opponent.

Not like this. Not _literally_ watching their backs recede until they were too far away, to have to wait patiently, to _hope_ , that they would be okay. The support he would have to give now would be auxiliary in the most literal sense of the word.

“...see here, if I do… ah, there we go. Hello, testing? Can you hear us, your Highness?” Pidge’s voice played through an audio system in the control panel, a little louder than was necessary, so he turned the volume down a bit.

He watched as, one-by-one, the comms systems for each paladin flickered to life. So they must be just about ready. “Yup. How’s the armor? Hope you like green.”

“My favorite color,” informed the paladin, which made Lance smile slightly. “You’re rather an excellent guesser or you really do have some magical stuff going on.”

Unable to resist, he laughed. “What, and pulling up a map of the entire universe in front of you wasn’t convincing enough? It was picking the color that really sold you on it, huh?”

“Alright, team,” Shiro cut in. “Let’s stay focused. Prince Lance, Allura says you’ll open a wormhole for us?”

His sister weighed in before he could respond, the decibels jumping with her cadence in the signatures of the blue paladin’s armor. He tried, and failed, not to be pained by that. Now was not the time to be petty.

“Yes, as Overseer, he should be able to — do you think you can handle it?”

The Prince rolled his eyes, not that they could see, and he heard Coran’s footsteps starting to come back towards the control room.

“ _Yes_ , dear Sister. I can handle it. Wormholing used to take a lot but I am certain this is going to be different, I can use the castle’s energy instead of my own. Stop worrying and focus on getting Hunk his lion.”

“Don't give me that attitude. I'm just concerned for you,” she bit back, just as Coran entered the room and he took the spot Lance was occupying at the main controls, allowing him to return to navigations.

“So, judging by the current energy levels of the castle, King Alfor’s own ability to manipulate space-time and and adjusting to making sure we don’t overexert the Prince,” the advisor supplied into the channel. “The wormholes should be able to remain open and stable for about two of your Earth hours.”

“Hours are almost one-for-one with vargas,” Pidge informed helpfully. “I’m already starting to map out this goofy language mix-up because it’ll drive me insane if we’re not on the same page.”

Shiro added an approving, “Good to know, Pidge,” but Lance hardly heard it.

He was distracted by the conversion more-so than the technical words. _Two varga_? That’s… much, _much_ longer than he had ever held a wormhole before. That felt like ages to stand in one place and spill forth quintessence into the universe... but, if Father had done it before, and it was Lance’s duty now, then he would have to see that it was done.

“Anything we should know before heading out?” Keith cut into Lance’s mini episode of panic. “Otherwise, Pidge and I are ready.”

From the other hangar, Allura shared the same sentiment firmly over the comms channel. “We’re all ready in the Blue Lion.”

Coran, ever helpful, chimed in. “Just waiting on your mark, your Highness.”

“Alright,” Lance said, mostly to himself, and moved his palms over the consoles again. He hadn’t even bothered to lower the stupid things because they honestly took too quiznakin’ long to retract and raise again from the floor. A tedious waste of time.

Standing with both hands ready, he noted that this position was actually starting to feel a little familiar. That was a good sign, right? His leg muscles were going to get a nice test of endurance; no more dreams of fighting Galra in a cockpit, sitting and steering and blasting his way through space. Fighting and winning the battles of patience was going to be his real challenge from this point forward.

This time, with an extra punch of confidence, he said, “Alright! I’m opening them now. Good luck.”

Then, yielding once more to the flow of matter and letting his consciousness tag onto the icy tails of comets, and his heart beating in time with waves of radiation, combusting and collapsing and evaporating into a body of stars, a mind into gaseous atmospheres, Lance almost gasped at how readily the universe welcomed his touch this time, how easily it accommodated to the request to unstitch the fabric of time and the texture of space in not one, but _two_ rifts, simultaneously splitting through the blackness of inky space beyond. The awareness of his connection with each Lion made finding their individual wavelength across the frequencies of energy across all of space that much easier — all he had to do was follow a thread that was connected to his own heart to the other end of a line.

With the wormholes open, Lance sighed and stood at the consoles with hands firmly gripping the smooth, opulent stone that absorbed and regulated the flow of quintessence through his body and the crystal. The sensation came with an incredible, thrilling, intimidating sense of power that he still was entirely unsure of how to wield, but if this was his fate, he would have to learn — for his lost planet, his fallen family, his living sister, and for these new paladins who were throwing themselves into the whims of the universe and holding on. Lance just hoped he wouldn’t let anyone else slip through his fingers, and his hands flexed over the base of the supporting pillars in response.

The idea of any of them — aliens or new friends, strangers or siblings, Altean advisor or Galran pilot — _any of them_ , dying, because he’d been the one to open this door for them, terrified him more than any confrontation with the Galra ever could. The mightiest of the Galra were child’s play compared to this responsibility.

Lance had never been more afraid in his entire life, but not of the enemy. Perhaps never again would he be afraid of purple skin and fangs.

_Let them come._

He wasn’t afraid of Emperor Zarkon or any of his bloodthirsty commanders or his wicked druids. Let them come, because now, to the Prince, the single the scariest force in the universe was himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter we'll finally get some alternative POV's from our other characters rather than the static, omniscient lance-centric level of focus. thank you for those who have read & commented and left kudos so far. the support makes writing this story so much fun!! :)


	4. A New Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Keith is bad with technology (and social situations), Lance is easily distracted, and Allura, Hunk and Shiro grow a little closer as teammates.

**[KEITH]**

 

Exiting the wormhole was much less turbulent the second time around, and Red seemed almost overjoyed to be flying again. Keith could definitely relate; even if it was a giant mechanical space cat, flying was something he _knew_ , something that he felt in the core of his being. It sure made a lot more sense than everything else right now.

Once they touched down in one of the rare breaks in the tree-crowded planet, Pidge pulled up her arm band and – oh, whoa, there’s a display there. Keith repeated the action with interest.

“Is the comm channel on?” He asked, not _exactly_ sure what he was reading as Pidge began to exit the cockpit, so he followed out after her.

She frowned and turned in place, presumably trying to get a better sense of direction with the coordinates Lance had given them. It took her a moment to respond.

“Just local right now. We can hear incoming from the castle, but they can’t hear us unless we turn them on. Just do this – ” she demonstrated with the menu on their arm display, and Keith memorized the movements diligently. “If you need to call out to the castleship only, and this one if you want all channels.”

“Cool, thanks,” he muttered before setting off beside her, keeping his bayard tightly gripped in one hand. The Alteans might have suggested this place was peaceful, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down.

After a few minutes of walking through the thickets of trees, over dense underbrush, and between serpentine vines and alien ivy (this planet was too  _forested,_  in Keith’s annoyed opinion,), Pidge finally spoke up. She sounded more nervous than he’d heard her in months.

“Do you… do you think we’re doing the right thing, being here?”

“I followed the coordinates exactly,” he stated, glancing down at his wrist, trying to pull up the map to verify. “Does it seem like we’re going to the wrong way?

She let out a little scoff and shook her head. “No, I meant like, trusting these aliens… We were able to get Shiro back, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my Monday night plans.”

“Oh,” Keith bit his lip, because, _duh_. She meant, like, _here_ as in, universe-fate _here_ , not _here-here_. “I mean, I don’t know. I feel this… sort of connection with the Red Lion that I mentioned before. I can _feel_ her, like, in my mind? It’s almost like intuition, but it’s someone else’s intuition in _addition_ to mine, and _she_ trusts them so I’m sort of inclined to feel that way, even if I don’t have a good reason of my own. Maybe it’ll be easier to understand when we find the Green Lion.”

“Maybe.” She sounded unconvinced, but Pidge was not stupid – literally, she was the opposite. If she wanted to continue the conversation, she knew how and what to say, and this seemed like her way of ending it. Keith was fine returning to companionable silence, not exactly known as a joyous source of comfort or support.

They journeyed for what was nearly twenty minutes before the trees started to thin in the direction Pidge’s map displayed, only really speaking to mention a random degree change in their route or about the general functionality of their suits. The entire walk, even while ducking beneath branches and stepping over roots in the ground, Pidge managed to stay preoccupied with her suit, experimenting with all sorts of settings and informing Keith each time she discovered a new one. Yep, these Alteans _definitely_ knew what they were doing in terms of technology – the suit alone made anything he’s come across belonging to the Garrison seem like fucking jalopies by comparison, and that’s to say nothing of the Lions or the Castle that somehow doubled as a spaceship? He very much wanted to see how _that_ possibly worked.

It was at the end of this twenty minutes they came upon a wide river, gentle currents barely trickling over the rocks near the cusp of the waters, and a new face.

It was... oh, god, what _was_ it? Automatically, Keith had his bayard ready and took a half-step in front of Pidge, instincts telling him to be defensive in the face of a threat, but after several seconds it was clear this being was not, at least outwardly, threatening. It was just… a sloth-like humanoid? Bigger than him, heck, probably bigger than Shiro, with long limbs and _very sharp_ claws that were sticky and tangled with… berries.

Okay, yeah, probably not a threat.

He lowered his bayard and Pidge snorted. “Oh my god, look, he has a boat.”

Indeed, Keith followed where she pointed at there was a vessel eerily close to what looked like an Earth canoe, one large, wooden oar propped up against it.

“I think he…” the Green Paladin tilted her head to one side when the Sloth-Thing made a grunting, whining noise and swung its arms around. “I think he wants us to get in the boat.”

“Ugh,” he sighed, dematerializing the katana-style blade completely. “Maybe I should have just landed us closer to the exact location.”

“Oh, calm down,” Pidge smirked as she followed after the Sloth-Thing and got into the little dingy, no problem whatsoever. “You’ll never enjoy the little things in life if you don’t ease up.”

Grumbling, he got in the boat, even though he made sure to tag on, “How is getting into the canoe of an alien sloth creature a _little thing_?”

Pidge did not grant him a response as she looked around, quiet for time as she studied their surroundings. The Red Paladin just sat with his arms crossed over his chest, a stubborn look on his face while he watched the Sloth-Thing distrustfully; it rowed them across the waters and downstream with such extreme docility, Keith was positive it was just mocking him at this point.

“I feel… bad for the Prince, Princess and Coran,” Pidge admitted after several minutes, glancing at him over her shoulder. “All I can think about is Matt and my Dad, you know? But they lost _everything_. I can’t even… imagine. Their whole planet just – _gone_.”

Keith said nothing, but Pidge didn’t seem like she expected him to. He’d felt a strange pit in his stomach since he’d dragged Shiro out of that Garrison station in the desert, but he’d managed to avoid confronting it with the craziness of the past week. With Iverson and Sanda getting closer and closer everyday to tracking where they’d managed to hide Shiro out in his father’s shack, to when Pidge called in Hunk for the favor with the… fraunhofer line…? something like that – with _that line thing_ – they were then led to Red, which led them here. He hadn’t really had time to just stop and process what was happening, everything suddenly stuck on fast-forward like the tapes in his Dad’s old shitty VCR.

Not that he minded – avoiding feelings was kind of his _thing_ , but this meditative time in the boat made it impossible to anything _but_ stew in his thoughts.

So he returned to that feeling, uncomfortable and churning in his stomach.

 _Guilt_.

It was a weird, twisting sense of guilt.  They got Shiro back. They _did_ it. They actually fucking did it, after a year of searching and countless hours spent between the both of them in trying to analyze and understand first, _what_ happened, and then _who_ the Galra were, and _then_ where they had Shiro and Matt and Pidge’s father, Keith actually got Shiro back. It felt like one of those dreams that was always just a few seconds away from ending, but instead of ending this time, it just grew increasingly bizarre.

And, in some ways, increasingly bleak.

For starters, Pidge’s personal mission wasn’t over. She didn’t get what she’d been searching for, Keith did, and it felt like there was some weird… rift now, an inequity of sorts. He didn’t like it; they’d grown close in their shared loss after the Kerberos mission. The least he could do would be to continue to help her search for Matt and her father as she helped him find Shiro, but this unexpected turn of events has sort of put a pin in their plans for the time being.

Then, there was the matter of Adam, which Shiro had yet to mention and Keith wasn’t even sure he wanted to open _that_ particular can of worms. It wasn’t _really_ his business, he supposed, but he knew Adam was devastated when he’d heard the Holts and Shiro had been reported as dead – the man didn’t believe it for the first several months either, but Keith saw him start to retreat into himself, more resigned than resentful, his outrage slowly turned to mourning. He stopped calling as often, and Pidge said he didn’t seek her out at the Garrison anymore. Should _he_ have called Adam once they found him? How do explain something like this – your ghost of an ex-fiance that you’ve finally started to bury is back, but, oh boy, there’s been some _developments_.

And now, he had even _more_ people’s personal miseries to feel bad about. Lance and Allura and Coran.

Keith was no stranger to being alone. After his father died, he lived the life of ‘sob story foster kid’ for enough years to know that pain, and know it well. Then Shiro came into his life, shortly followed by Adam, and things were better for awhile – until he started to exhibit his Galran genes. It was just a few things at first, beginning when he was only thirteen. His teeth had grown in a a little too sharp, but, who would notice? Keith didn’t. It’s not like he regularly compared his own canines to other kids at school.

Then there was a weird period of time where Adam was convinced, _convinced_ , he had jaundice because the whites of his eyes kept growing darker and darker yellow. No doctors could make sense of it besides the possibility that it was just some sort of unusual phenotypic mutation.

By sixteen, his skin markings began to color in, dark purple on each cheek and curving with the shape of his jawline, down his neck and over his torso. that looked like strange tattoos. Shiro thought he was in a _gang_ – that had been a fun conversation. It was the ears and the fur that came in the subsequent few months that had him out of school and plopped safely in Adam and Shiro’s shared apartment.

It was basically impossible to deny at that point what he was was _not_ fully human.

Combine that information with the vague stories his father used to tell about his Mom, the bizarre blade that had been left for him in her name, and a general interest in cryptids and, well – he was thoroughly convinced he was at least half-alien.

Sixteen and seventeen was a weird time, because he didn’t have enough to do with his time out of school and Shiro and Adam really couldn’t _deny_ that he was turning purple before their very eyes, day by day. It definitely didn’t help that they were already starting to have relationship issues around that time, and pained as Keith was to admit it, he had to personally side with Adam on a lot of the arguments.

Keith loved Shiro, the older brother he’d never had, but he had worked himself too hard for too long and it ended up coming at the expense of his health. Awkwardly, Keith very much remembered the day Shiro told him that he would fly on the Kerberos mission, and the sharp slam of the door when Adam walked out of the apartment by the end of the evening.

As if becoming a purple alien with yellow sclera wasn’t stressful enough, seventeen year old Keith had _no idea_ what he was supposed to do with the apartment that was in the name of two ex-fiances, one of whom was in space and shortly thereafter declared dead, and the other who was in a fluctuating state of venomous fury and overwhelming grief. So, Keith decided to turn to the most familiar, remote place he could – it’s not like he could go get himself groceries looking the way he did – and moved back to his Dad’s shack.

It wasn’t long after when Pidge tracked him down, and after a bit of a knife-wielding and data-threatening showdown, they came to the begrudging agreement to help each other find their lost families, and since then, the Galra hybrid believed they’d grown rather close.

So. That is all to say, Keith had gone through the motions; he’d had his dad, he’d been alone, he found a new family that then fissured, was struck by tragedy, and was left alone again. While he could sympathize with how the Alteans must feel, Pidge was definitely right about one thing – having your whole fucking _planet_ being turned into a bomb, designed to kill your family? That’s… yeah, that’s some pretty insurmountable grief. Only made weirder by the fact that they were all weirdly _bright_ people, like, chipper and energetic and, in the case of the Prince, more than a little annoying.

Nice... and, okay, maybe he was a _little_ cute – but _annoying_. Who starts calling someone you just met _Fuzzy_? Then again, Lance _did_ put his body between Keith and his sister’s bayard which, christ, and he thought _Earth_ people were hostile to his purple skin and yellow eyes; that was a whole new level of violence.

Keith couldn’t really say he blamed them; he looked like a fucking monster after all, but it did make for a tense start otherwise. The royal siblings and their advisor seemed to have their shit together in spite of losing, well, everything, and now he was in this weird boat with a weird Sloth-Thing and – ah, shit, Pidge was talking to him and he wasn’t even listening.

“... could be a mistake, you know? I mean, the Red Lion found _you_ more and you were like, the best pilot at the Garrison before you went purple on us. I’m not even a pilot, I mean, I always _wanted_ to be, but there wasn’t room in the fighter class and I was more suited for the communications. What if the Prince was wrong? He seems nice, but, like, a little distracted? What if he made a mistake? What if the Green Lion doesn’t open for me? What if – ”

Firmly, but with practiced calm, he said. “ _Pidge_. You’re doing it again.”

“Oh. Yeah. Fair enough,” she hummed, but Keith could still hear her fingers tapping a staccato rhythm over her metal plated armor. She had a tendency to do this when they worked on a tricky set of code or a particularly frustrating recording of radio chatter; talk herself into a million _what if_ ’s that just fed into her anxiety, and Keith knew her and his own anxieties well enough to know it never ended well unless you caught it early.

So, then, to distract her, or try to get her to talk about it?

The Sloth-Thing gave him a big, dopey grin that annoyed him right the fuck off so he decided to go for the distraction, maybe in part for his own benefit as well.

For a reason he didn’t care to analyze, the Prince’s deadpan expression when he demanded Keith explain what _fuck_ meant popped into his head, and his cheeks felt a little hot.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “If we’re going to be working with the Alteans, I want to know what sort of language barriers to expect. I know you said hours and vargas, so I got that. What else?”

Pidge stiffened for a moment but ended up spinning in her seat to face him, looking a little less stressed since they’d landed. “Well, I’m trying to keep track on both sides, and as the Prince so rightly pointed out, they don’t have fuck or shit in their vocabulary, so I’m assuming all matter of swear words are…”

Smirking, Keith watched her grow increasingly animated in the discussion of alien linguistics and they shared a laugh out of how mad Shiro would be if they heard them speaking like this. It carried them all the way to the shore, the whole trip from when they touched down in Red lasting them about an hour. Assuming Pidge has no issues, they could hop in Green, he could pick up Red, and be back with plenty of time.

  

* * *

 

**[LANCE]**

 

Did Lance ever mentioned how much he _hated_ waiting?

It had only been one varga, and his head was already pounding from having to abate the constant strain of his anxieties, their persistent attempts to niggle through the cage of his ribs and wear down his heart while staying _almost perfectly still_ was exhausting. This manner of fatigue was subtle, and in Lance’s opinion, much more annoying; it came unbidden, with none of the slow loss of adrenaline after shooting a rifle or pulling off a particularly well-timed dive or spin mid-flight. No, it was just a byproduct of the tedious, grueling passage of ticks, then dobosh, then varga. Time was so _slow_ , and yet so _constant_ – he was sure the universe was mocking him. How were they only at the _halfway_ mark?

Yes, Lance concluded, _waiting_ was the absolute bane of his existence.

Ah, quiznak, he wasn’t paying attention again.

“Wait, wait,” blinking, Lance shook his head and ultimately closed his eyes, tightly. “I’m sorry, I just… can we take a break from for a few ticks?”

The advisor, who had been standing at his usual post in the control room and was going over some of the finer details of powering the thrusters, offered an understanding smile. “Of course. How about five dobosh and we’ll pick up again?”

“Please.” Lance released a heavy sigh, allowing the control consoles to bare most of his weight.

In addition to his headache, the Prince was feeling guilty about having to ask Coran so many times to repeat himself, or slow down, or start over. His tutors back home had always hated when he couldn’t pay attention to his lessons, but his attention span had never been up to par with his sister’s. It’s not like he wasn’t at least _trying_ , because obviously this was much more important than memorizing the taxonomy of all the plants in the castle’s botanical gardens or the history of Unilu folklore, but Oriande was this _hard._

To the Prince’s credit, he _was_ a little busy trying to maintain two stable, simultaneous rifts in the universe, by, you know, oh-so-casually regulating the flow of quintessence from the massive Battleship Class Crystal overhead, using his body as a medium for the Castle’s teludav to then convert that quintessence into a concentrated form of energy, a stable source of power to fuel a distortion with enough mass to bend quiznaking space-time, and _then_ pouring forth that energy into the universe to keep his sister and four strangers who had essentially trusted him with their lives from getting trapped on the other end of _space_. That’s to say nothing of the fact that this was no Sunday afternoon lesson. He was trying to comprehend how to pilot a state-of-the-art, one-of-a-kind warship – which happened to double as his childhood home and the only thing he had left of his _entire planet_. It was a task that should at least take phoebs to understand and Coran was doing his best to compound everything into a matter of varga – at least enough to keep them defended until the Paladins can form Voltron.

So, yes, Lance had a bit of a headache.

Desperate for a distraction, he let out a long breath and called over the background whirring and blips of the Castle’s many monitors. “Any updates on the Lions?”

Coran twirled his moustache absentmindedly before responding, checking a specific screen while reporting. “Hmm. Yes and no. The Red Lion has been immobile almost since the moment they left the wormhole; I’m guessing those two had to travel largely on foot. The Princess seems to be active in the Blue Lion, but still no activity from the other two.” Almost apologetically, he added, “If you want, we _could_ call down and check in, but it might be best to just leave them to it. I don’t want to expend more of your energy than necessary, and a call out from this distance would certainly require a boost from the Castle.”

Lance pursed his lips for a moment, considering the pros and cons, but ultimately agreed to leave the others be. Yes, he was anxious as all-quiznaking-get-out, but interrupting the teams was a waste of power and could perhaps even put them in danger. He sincerely hoped not, but the risk simply wasn’t worth it.

Lance grimaced because, now that they were taking a break, his nose _itched_. Of course it did, because he had another hour before he could scratch it. The universe was a cruel thing sometimes.

“Hey, Coran,” he spoke with a frown. “Can you pull up the details on that ship that’s coming? I wanted to look it over again.”

“Hmm, yes, just a moment...”

The advisor did as instructed, the hologram materializing a few feet from the platform, using this opportunity to better assess the specifics.

A warship, it was probably the nearest one in their star system. If Lance had to guess, judging by the size and grade of the details that he could see – ion cannon, particle barriers, countless blasters, with a hull big enough to probably house prisoners – it was _maybe_ a high ranking General, but more likely one of Zarkon’s Commanders. Whoever it was, he realized with bile churning in his stomach, was probably someone he’d seen before, possibly even hosted in the very castle in which he stood, if not at the Citadel. They were probably a guest, once upon a time, or, ironically, an ally that had attended one of Father’s military debriefs. Lance sighed. Such ships were once a great sign of pride to the unity of Voltron; how ironic that it was coming now with only the promise of violence.

The Prince was prepared to ask Coran to dismiss the projection, but there ended up being no need. An incoming call over the main communication channel had both of them wincing, breaking the near-silence of the bridge with a loud chime.

“It’s... oh, the Red Paladin?” Coran reported, terminating the hologram of the Galra ship to preserve on energy and opening the channel.

Lance’s grip tightened on the controls, throat suddenly dry. Had something happened? Had they not managed to find the Green Lion? What if Lance had been wrong, the coordinates off somehow, or perhaps he’d led them straight into a trap, or –

“Wait, shit, Pidge – are you still there?” Keith’s voice came in as a low grumble, accented by the sound a series of little _clicks_ in the background. The advisor and Prince shared a dubious look, and the Red Paladin spoke again. “Oh, no… uh, hello? I think this is the Castle, my bad.”

Lance laughed a little, a mixture of relief and amusement making the sound a little wheezier than normal. “What, you missed me so much that you needed to call?”

“No,” the deadpan voice on the other end replied. “I was just – Pidge found the Green Lion, I was just waiting for her, and then I was messing with the settings on the suit… I think I turned off her line by mistake.”

“Mhmm,” the Prince sighed with all manner of theatrics. “That sounds like a great excuse. You can admit it, you know. You missed me!”

A few ticks passed, and Keith let out a frustrated groan on the other end. “Great, now I can’t figure out how to switch _you_ off. Did you do trap me on the line or something?”

“Hey!” Lance let out an indignant noise. He missed the confused look on Coran’s face, considering the Prince had all but forgotten the advisor was even there. “Just because _you’re_ technologically challenged doesn’t make it _my_ fault. And just think, I was just about to tell you how to turn it back to normal, but now I don’t think I will.”

“What if Pidge is in trouble?!” The paladin demanded on the other end, and Lance had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “She went into the – there’s a big dome of vines and stuff, I don’t know how to describe it – she went in it by herself and still hasn’t come out!”

Across the bridge, Coran waved to the Prince and made a big demonstration with his hands of mimicking the Prince’s posture, then pointing to the crystal overhead and around the control room as a whole. He mouthed a word, _energy,_ which Lance took to mean, _don’t use up all of it_! But, talking to Keith was making for a nice distraction from the mental and physiological strain of the past varga, and he had been planning on breaking for a few dobosh anyway so he dismissed the suggestion and continued.

“Coran’s playing dupples. Do you have dupples on Earth?” He wondered aloud, ignoring the accompanying groan of complaint that came over the comms. “It’s like, a game where you don’t say anything but try to act it out, and then other people have to guess what they’re trying to say or do.”

“… _Charades_?” The boy on the other end suggested, another new word to mark down for their dissonant lexicons. “We have _charades_. I think that’s what you’re trying to explain, but I’ve never played it.”

The Prince adjusted his shoulders and managed to slightly crack his neck, which helped him further to relax. “How do you know about this _charades_ if you’ve never played it?”

“Uh, well, I didn’t – wait.” Keith stopped mid-sentence, and his voice returned with an air of defensiveness. “I don’t have to tell you that. Aren’t you supposed to be learning castle things as Overseer or whatever? Defenses and particle barriers and stuff?”

Lance, ever the opportunist, replied with a flirtatious lilt to his tone. “Oh Keith, you’ve already activated _my_ particle – ”

Coran cleared his throat, interjecting audibly instead of just bodily this time. “Your Highness, terribly sorry to interrupt, as much as the conversation about Earth-dupples is fascinating, I’d say we should hop off the channel again. Don’t want to use up all your energy levels before the others make it back, hmm?”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Ah, right. Sorry, Fuzzy, guess I got to keep this briefing… _brief_. Heh.”

“Are you always like this?” Keith asked, and for the first time, the Prince was _sure_ it sounded like the Red Paladin might be smiling on the other side of the channel.

“If by _like this_ , you mean, _amazing_ , then yes. Except I’m usually even more amazing, because right now, you’ve only got about fifty percent of my attention. If you _want_ , you can get all one-hundred percent of my attention later if you’re really interested.”

“...Uh, okay? Could you just tell me how to get Pidge back on the channel before you guys go?”

Coran piped up, sounding just a _tad_ impatient. “Good question, Paladin! Just go to the main functions where you originally switched the audio setting, and the band ‘round your wrist should rotate to adjust the audio channels. Make sure to save the setting before exiting the menu or it will assume you’ve canceled the request! It may seem tedious now, but it’s little more than a flick of the wrist once you’ve got the hang of it.”

“Ahh thanks, Coran,” the Red Paladin replied. “At least _you’re_ helpful.”

Lance scoffed and rolled his eyes, not that Keith could see. “Oh, sure, that’s fine. No need to thank _me_ , it’s not like some fluffy-eared half-Galra called and distracted me from the very delicate, precise process of holding open two gaping tears in the fabric of _space-time_ because they couldn’t figure out basic technology. No big deal, not at all.”

Much to Lance’s surprise, the other boy laughed, and snorted just a little. Hehe. _Cute_.

Oh, no.

Stars above, it was really, _really_ cute. Much more than the Prince would have anticipated from the Red Paladin if he was judging from his otherwise dismal attitude. And quiznak if Lance didn’t know his own weaknesses – a cute laugh was definitely one of them. Now it was going to have to be one of his personal goals to hear that sound all the time.

“Fine,” the voice over the comms interrupted, and the Prince felt a pleased, triumphant little flutter in his chest. “ _Thank you_ , Prince Lance.”

The line disconnected, and he ended up not-quite-but-almost giggling, fingers fanning out lightly over the support columns at his sides and tapping bereft little notes as the bridge settled back to its usual silence.

Coran turned to him, and, expecting to be scolded, the Prince’s unexpected, but totally welcome, sunny mood began to wilt. However, the advisor appeared only amused, if not a bit exasperated.

“Should we resume going over the Castle’s defenses, Prince?”

Willfully schooling his expression, Lance took a steadying breath, pulled himself up to full height again and used the consoles to relieve some of the strain on his feet from standing in place for so long. “Yep. Ready as ever, let’s get to it.”

Over the next twenty dobosh, they went over every painstaking detail that they could with the limited time they had. Lance’s second wind after chatting (and maybe just a _little_ bit of flirting) with the Red Paladin couldn’t do much to revitalize the physical strain of continually moderating the flow of quintessence from the teludav and the Crystal, but it did help to take some of the edge off his headache, and he was now better able to concentrate.

The particle barrier and the energy blasters were self-explanatory, and to operate the teludav was literally primordial knowledge that was passed down with the title Overseer, but the thrusters were bizarre in that four of them doubled as the Lion’s hangars and and the Paladin Drones seemed to operate on an entirely different supply of energy which could be rerouted to strengthen both offense and defense, but would cost a great deal of power to use simultaneously with the regular blasters. Interestingly, to use them while actively flying, Coran claimed, was more energy efficient as the heat exhausted by the thrusters was partially converted back into raw energy for the weapons. While grounded, this extra supply was not available and had to be drawn directly through the Crystal, him, or the generators.

Switching between different grades of power, audio and visual communication, distress beacons, Castle alarms, the generator room – they covered only the bare necessities for now, and the Prince was already feeling largely overwhelmed. Not discouraged, necessarily, simply surprised how operating such a ship would be so different than a regular cruiser or battleship; he knew the Lions were technically warships, but, they were of an entire different class and size and system than this. He had not been expecting there to just be _so much._

At the end of the twenty dobosh, however, another attempt was made by the paladins to contact the bridge so Coran and Lance stopped their crash-course to accept just to make sure nothing was wrong.

The advisor gasped, pleased by something he saw on the monitor.  “The Green Lion!”

A spirited voice crackled over the comms momentarily, and Lance saw that they were three for the channel – green, red, and the Castle.

The Green Paladin laughed, her image now joining the screen. “Yup! We just got back to the Red Lion so Keith should be ready to go soon. We’ll be back in a few dobosh.”

Lance beamed, not realizing how tightly he’d been wound until he felt the sag of relief in hearing Pidge’s voice coming from the Green Lion. It was validating, in a way – Blue, Red, and Black were all available to him to sense. It was the Green and Yellow Lions he had to reach out to, and securing one of them reaffirmed to him that he could really do this, he was really _doing_ this.

“I knew green suited you! Do you feel okay? Is the Lion…?” He began immediately, bouncing slightly in place while his hands rested over the consoles.

Keith, scowling, flickered into view beside Pidge. “We’re all good here, I think. Any word from the others?”

The Prince worried his lower lip between his teeth while shaking his head, but he added a teasing few words to the end to mollify the worried look that crossed both paladins’ expressions.

“But don’t worry, my sister surely knows not to call just to waste my time, unlike some of us. With missions like this, we operate under the assumption that no news is good news, and since I haven’t heard from any of them – it’s probably a good sign.”

The Red Paladin looked unconvinced – indeed, he looked almost ready to argue – but the Green Paladin at least smiled appreciatively into the feed and jumped in. “Alright, we’ll be right there! And while we wait, Keith can tell you what a _fuck_ finally is.”

“ _Pidge_ ,” the other growled, both paladins retorts cut out when Lance rolled his eyes, denoting for Coran to cut the transmission. Seeing as they’re about to return, holding open both wormholes was critical but would still take his focus and he wouldn’t risk messing up the return trip just because he was a little distracted.

The Yellow Lion would be joining them soon enough, Black would be freed from her unwilling purgatory, and Voltron would finally return after all these decaphoebs.

 

* * *

 

**[HUNK, ALLURA, SHIRO]**

 

“Wow, this thing can _fly!_ ” Shiro shouted, utterly exhilarated and more than a little impressed by the Princess’s maneuvering of the Blue Lion. From the way Lance spoke about her as already being the Lion’s pilot, he assumed this was the tip of the proverbial iceberg in terms of what she and the machine were capable of.

Hunk, gripping the back of the pilot seat with a serious, but small, smile added, “Yes. This is. Wow, okay, a lot, but it’s less cramped and scary than riding with Keith.”

“Why, thank you boys,” the Princess said, beaming, and it was indeed a glorious opportunity to get out and stretch her legs – the Lion’s, really, but her own too. Having passengers in her first real time flying with Blue was a little bizarre, but she could feel the rumble deep in her core encouraging her to fly with everything she had, so she did just as the Lion bid.

Oriande knows if there was ever an instinct to trust in the universe, it was the call of the Voltron Lions.

The wormhole deposited them outside the atmosphere of a seemingly lifeless planet, colored by warm tones of brown with very little in the way of discernible atmosphere.

In Hunk’s totally nerdy opinion, it looks like one would _expect_ a brown dwarf to look, craggly with craters and fissures rippling over the surface like tides over Earth’s oceans, soft beige bleeding into almost smoky, chocolate browns. (Then, bright-eyed thirteen year old Hunk learned a little more about the classifications of celestial body and was utterly disappointed to find out _brown dwarfs_ were purplish-red. Who names a purple-ish red astronomical entity _brown_?)

Shiro had taken to studying the many displays inside the lion, brow furrowed as he watched the Princess pilot with ease. While the interior seemed almost indistinguishable from that of the Red Lion that he could see, besides that it was a little roomier, the controls seemed to yield in a totally different way in her hands than the Red Lion had to Keith’s – and Keith was no amateur pilot.

It was a barely-there distinction, but Shiro saw it in the way they operated, the subtle shifts in the grip of the steering mechanisms, how and when they eased up on the thrusters, which readings garnered their attention and which ones they didn’t pay much mind. Where the Blue Lion artfully swerved and dipped with steady velocity, the Red Lion (from what little of it wasn’t an adrenaline-filled nightmare fueled by a very real fear of being recaptured by the Galra) was more concerned with steady _acceleration_. One was concerned with staying fast, the other wanted to see how much _faster_ it could go.

Considering how, from just a glance, they only seemed to differ in size and in color, Shiro could suddenly appreciate a little more of Prince Lance’s earlier monologue; truly, these Lions had personalities of their own. Inevitably, he wondered, what would the Black Lion be like?

“Alright, according to this, it looks like the Yellow Lion should be – ” The Princess peered over the left side of the front window and smirked. “Yes, there. There’s an underground opening, by the looks of it.”

Over her shoulder, Hunk unnecessarily coached Allura through her descent. “Okay, nice, just slow and easy – yes. Good.”

His white-knuckled grip of the back of the pilot’s seat slowly loosened as they neared the surface, taking practiced, steady breaths.

Once the trio had touched down on the ground, Shiro noticed for the first time that the planet was not as uninhabited, though just as lifeless, as it had once seemed.

“Whoa, what was happening here?” Hunk wondered as the Blue Lion’s jaw lowered to the ground. pulling up the band on his arm and studying what must have been a map of the planet – interior and all. Shiro was vaguely reminded of those little ant colonies that were popular on Earth once upon a time, with tunnels and caverns nested throughout the entire outer crust layers of the planet. They all stopped around the same depth, however – perhaps reaching the equivalent of Earth’s mantle, beyond the point of digging?

Clustered around the entrance, and consequently the part of the scene that had so grabbed Hunk’s attention, were the remnants of what looked like it was once a mining operation that had since been abandoned.

“It’s hard to say…” The Princess murmured, enhancing the image on Blue’s dashboard by zooming in on the broken, abandoned equipment. “Our records don’t show this territory as having been colonized by the Galra, but…”

The materials all certainly _looked_ Galra, bearing the characteristic marks of dark gunmetal plating with sharp purple edges, a variety of jagged designs that expressed unit names and classifications where appropriate.

Shiro pursed his lips and looked from the map on Hunk’s wrist to the display on the the Princess’s dash.

“Alright, let’s keep our guard up. Whether or not they’re here now, there were definitely Galra here at _some_ point. Allura, stay here with the Blue Lion and make sure there isn’t some sort ambush. Hunk, you and I will track down that lion.”

Both paladins nodded their assent, and the moment their feet touched solid ground Allura spun Blue around quickly to scan the skies over the nearby ridges, scrutinizing the light orange tint of the clouds.

At the cave entrance, Shiro fiddled around with the port on the suit in which Coran had said there should be a flashlight. Once it flicked on, he spoke into the headset.

“Princess, do you copy? Making sure the comms are working,” the black paladin’s voice rang clearly over the channel.

“Yes, I copy,” replied the Princess. “Can one of you try to get some quick scans the area? I’d like to have a closer look at what the Galra might have been doing here when we’re back at the Castle.”

Already fussing with the mobile scanner on his wrist, Hunk chriped, “On it! I’ll cover the scans if you can lead the way, Shiro?”

“Sounds good,” the older man agreed with a small smile. He kept his eyes alert, ears straining for any whine of metal or a conspicuous rustle of rocks.

As they journeyed further into the cave, the walls growing increasingly dark but for the two flashlights and the far, tunneled opening at which the Blue Lion waited diligently, it became increasingly clear that, whatever was happening here, the Galra must have left in a hurry. There were clear spots all over the ground, walls, even the ceiling of the cave in some places, all demarced with a similar set of symbols that suggested spots to dig and tunnel, but much of the work was left half-finished. The places where they’d begun excavation were just messy piles of rubble and, in one bizarre case, a pile of sentries. While Shiro reassured that they were just powered down guards, they looked, in Hunk’s opinion, too anatomically humanoid for him to be comfortable.

“This technology looks fairly new,” the Princess murmured as the images produced by Hunk’s scanner began to slowly fill up her screens, her tone bitter with the taste of contempt. “It can’t have been here much longer than a few decaphoebs, though I suspect more recent than that. Why would Gyrgan have chosen this place to hide his lion?”

“Gyrgan?” Shiro repeated hesitantly.

The Princess, privately, cursed herself for thinking aloud. She was at least grateful that the humans were not still in the cockpit with her, so they might not see the light flush in her cheeks.

“Ahh, yes, forgive me. Gyrgan was the previous Yellow Paladin,” she paused and cleared her throat. “Anyway, the point remains – this planet was clearly found and attracted the interest of the Galra for some purpose. It seems unnecessarily risky for him to have chosen such a place to leave the Yellow Lion.”

In the tunnels, the black and yellow paladins shared a look. Hunk’s expression was twisted into a thoughtful frown, and Shiro just shrugged. He took that as assent for him to seize the conversational reins.

“Hey, Princess?” Hunk prodded gently.  “It’s okay to talk about, er, _Gyrgan,_ if you want, you know? I’m sort of in shell-shock over this whole thing myself, and I haven’t been through half of the nightmare everyone else here has. I mean, Keith found out he’s part of a murderous alien race, Shiro got abducted by said murderous alien race, Pidge’s family is still missing, you and your brother’s whole _planet_ got…”

Shiro coughed sharply, and Hunk’s voice returned over the comms with a sheepish quality.

“Annnnnyways, what I was trying to say was, if you want to talk about it or Gyrgan or anything, I’m happy to listen, you know?”

The Princess had been trying to keep her focus on the incoming scans, looking over the markings and doing her best to read through the dust where they’d printed what were probably serial numbers and similar such information, but this new paladin’s shocking transparency had thrown her for a loop.

She and Lance hadn’t even really talked about what happened, let alone this perfect stranger from a different planet who fate had dropped right into their laps.

Sure, the siblings had spoken _of_ what happened, but not _about_ it; they were both at a point where the subject didn’t reduce them each to hysterics, but neither she nor Lance had even asked the other if they were okay.

That thought frightened her. _Was_ Lance okay?

Was _she_?

Well, no. Certainly not. She wasn’t _okay_ , but she and her brother were alive, and that was at least something.

Allura may be the older sibling, but only by a few decaphoebs. She no idea how to do this – how to do _any_ of this. How was she supposed to be the one to support her baby brother when she still felt so young herself? Even flying the Blue Lion was something she was managing through intuition and her basic knowledge of flying, not because she had any real clue of what she was supposed to do.

Was it even appropriate for her to ask if him if he was okay when she herself was so _not_ okay? She could scarcely sleep, and most nights ending with her dragging a pillow and blanket to Blue’s hangar just to try to free herself of the unspeakable terror that was loneliness and crippling responsibility, but even that felt bitter. Anything that came to the Blue Lion seemed to wedge her and her brother further apart, even if Lance did his best to mask his contempt. The sense of betrayal was clear as the blue of his eyes; she wasn’t sure if the feeling was reserved for Blue or for her, though she guessed it was likely brought on by both of them.

Thinking on this was making her chest hurt, suddenly aware of the weight of invisible guilt and confusion that made her ribs feel like they were caving in, forcing the air from her lungs faster than her paladin armor could ever replenish.

“Princess?” Shiro cleared his throat. “Are you still on?”

Allura startled, jumping slightly in her seat. “I’m… yes, my apologies. Thank you, Hunk, I’m… well, I’m not alright, but I also don’t know if I’m able to speak about it right now. It’s very…”

“Hey, hey, that’s okay!” Hunk chimed in immediately. It was almost comical how absolutely at ease he sounded speaking on this subject, considering he’d been a frightened mess in the Blue Lion’s cockpit not ten dobosh ago. “I wasn’t expecting you to explain everything, or _anything_ for that matter, I just wanted you to know the invitation was there if you ever _do_ want to talk about it. I’m... not sure about all of this paladin stuff, but if I’m going to be filling in for someone who was really important for you, I want to be able to know who he was and be able to respect his memory, too, you know?”

Allura nodded, not realizing this went unseen by the others, but to speak would have likely cost her the last of her composure. She was rather tired of crying all of the time, but the tears that brimmed at the corners of her eyes were, for once, not entirely products of her loss. No doubts remained as to the compassion and kindness of this human.

If anyone deserved to fly the Yellow Lion in Gyrgan’s honor, it was certainly Hunk; a perfect fit for the Yellow Paladin, just as Lance had said.

As it happened, such nice epiphanies don’t happen in a vacuum. The Princess had been so distracted by her sentimentality and the scans Hunk had been sending over that she entirely missed the fighter drones coming hard to Blue’s right, three quick bursts of energy fired directly into the Blue Lion’s outer armor.

She cursed under her breath, gripping the controls hard.

The worried catch had returned to Hunk’s voice, buzzing expectantly in her ear. “What was that!? Princess, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Shiro was right, though, it appears this _was_ an ambush.” Doing her best to maintain her focus, the Princess drove Blue over a series of nearby rocks, almost forming a sort of naturally occurring cairn along the side of the cliff, and took a bounding leap into the air. They snatched one of the drones midflight, capturing it in the lion’s jaws, metal cracking and sparks flying with a satisfying _crunch_ before being tossed aside. “Just focus on finding the Yellow Lion!”

A nervous sweat beaded over Hunk’s forehead and upper lip, and he gravitated closer to Shiro as the distant sound of explosions and firefight began to echo down the maze of tunnels.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, this is bad. Bad, bad, bad. We’re going to get trapped down here!” The younger paladin looked near to tears, and Shiro was just about ready to try to calm him when, instead, Hunk backed up against a wall to brace himself.

Immediately, the entire cave burst into sudden light, a dazzling series of carvings illuminating under Hunk’s touch, expanding out and down the tunnels, curving in time with the lines of their map. It was so bright they both had to blink several times, needing a moment for their eyes to adjust.

“Oh, snap, did _I_ do that?” Hunk gaped, looking at his hand in wonder and then back at the walls. “Magic is so _neat_.”

With a well-meaning sigh, the black paladin nodded and urged them forward. “Lead the way, Yellow Paladin.”

The boy beamed momentarily before arranging his face into a serious, tight-lipped expression that, frankly, reminded Shiro a _little_ too much of Sanda back on Earth for him not to find at least a little bit funny, and they quickly began to make their way even deeper into the tunnels.

Outside, Allura was demanding the attention of the remaining drones, not giving them the chance to try firing upon the exit with a constant barrage of blasts from Blue’s mouth cannon, and there was a few close calls where she nearly trapped them in her fatally sharp claws. It wasn’t fun, not exactly, but it was certainly exhilarating. The Blue Lion seemed to understand her every instinct and responded to her reflex without either of them having to try. Indeed, the Princess need only imagine something – a dive, a snap of the lion’s jaws, a surprise use of the thrusters – and Blue was ready, already reacting to the impulse. The actual experience of fighting was a bit dizzying compared to just flying, seeing as she didn’t even have a firm grasp on _how_ they were doing so much of what they were pulling off, but it was seamless and the Princess would be lying if she didn’t admit to adoring every adrenaline-fueled tick.

That being said, fighting off enemies in three-dimensions with three-hundred and sixty degrees of vulnerability wasn’t going to work forever. Allura knew what she and the Blue Lion made up for in advanced technology to the Galra’s dinky drones, she lacked in experienced, and it was definitely showing in their performance. She was only managing to fend off the two offending ships, not overpower them. Blaytz, or Father for that matter, probably could have blown through them with his eyes closed.

Ticks of fighting became dobosh, and her own nerves frayed with each one that passed. The buzzing of her heart in her ears had effectively drowned out all of what Shiro and Hunk had been saying over the comms – which, she recognized, was definitely not a good habit and she would have to start paying better attention to her teammates – but it amounted to the fact that she had absolutely no idea of how long they’d been gone.

Lance may be able to hold the wormholes open for two varga, but she’d rather he not exert himself for longer than was strictly necessary, so she tried to reel in the attention of her teammates.

“Have you nearly – _urgh,_ ” the moments distraction cost her, a shot grazing Blue’s front leg. “Where are you?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m almost there I think,” Hunk babbled in her ear, sounding increasingly nervous. “The walls got all glowy and stuff but then those offline sentry-soldier guys woke up and Shiro’s keeping my back covered, and I’ve been walking for what feels like forever and… it looks like it should be here but there’s a wall in the way?”

Were she not preoccupied with the controls, the Princess would have wrung her hands. “ _Then break the wall down!”_

“Uhh, right, okay, yeah – break down… the wall…” murmured the yellow paladin, tapping his chin with a hand on his hip. He looked around at all of the patterns inscribed in the stone, wishing he had a better opportunity to appreciate them when there wasn’t such little, precious time, and eventually the teen spotted a drill that had been abandoned with the rest of the mining equipment

Oh, yes, that should do. That should do just fine.

 

* * *

 

**[LANCE]**

 

As the second varga neared its end, Lance decided to keep his eyes closed so he could better sense the direct rift in the universe, ready to sew back up the threads of stable reality the moment he sensed the Yellow and Blue Lions ready to return.

He was, admittedly, nervous.

It wasn’t really a problem of his own endurance anymore, seeing as both the Red and Green Lions had been back for at least twenty dobosh now and both paladins had even come to join them on the bridge, the second wormhole had been closed for just as long.

Restlessly, the Prince shifted his hold of the navigation columns, trying not to tap his foot in time with the light hum of the Castle’s energy core. He’d been so deeply intertwined with the quintessence of the ship for such a long period of time, a steady echoing pulse of its energy had been left behind. It was definitely a little uncomfortable, and it vaguely reminded him of the bizarre sensation one feels after looking directly at a celestial body from a planet with a weak atmosphere, like Arus; your mind is imprinted with ghosts of the sun or stars, and the brilliant light ends up blotting out much of your vision until your retina can readjust. While the Prince _knew_ at a realistic level that the energy core remained outside his physical body, and what he was feeling was just a secondary, phantom rhythm to his own heartbeat, it was still tangible and discomforting enough to leave him tense.

Within the walls, the muted tremors of sky and space reverberated through the Castle, trumpeted by the distinct hums of the forest and the chaos that manifests fire. Too far from their pack, the melody of sea and the final tune, the refrain of the land, rose, higher, louder, a _crescendo_ that matched the pulse of the Castle.

Around him, Lance could hear Pidge tinkering. She had begun to familiarize herself with some of the technology on the bridge, wandering – maybe by coincidence, but Lance suspected not – towards Trigel’s old seat and eventually slumping down into it. The Green Paladin’s station on the bridge seemed to suit her perfectly, even if it was designed with someone of a larger frame in mind. Coran had floated after her, speaking quietly about some of the functionalities of each paladin’s set-up, the screens, the power supply and the like. Vaguely, Lance heard her ask something about a _lap top_ and about electrical outlets, which, to him, seemed like Earth nonsense. Probably another hurdle they’d have to figure out, but that would have to wait til later.

To his right, he heard the clipped notes of Fuzzy-Keith’s boots over the metal floors, pacing circles around the Red and Blue Paladin’s stations.

“Come on, Shiro,” he muttered to himself, and Lance’s focus wavered for just a moment. Right, the Red and Black paladins had a history. It seemed familial, from the way they explained it before, but Lance wasn’t quite sure.

The pacing stopped eventually.

“Can’t we just like, call them _briefly_ , just to make sure they’re okay? We’re almost out of time, right?”

“Well, not exactly out of time,” Coran replied, returning to full-height. He’d been bent at the waist in his perusal of Pidge’s screens over her shoulder. “Now that the second wormhole is closed, Lance should be able to go a little longer – though not much, I’m still not keen on you exerting this much of your own quintessence into the ship.”

The latter half of the statement was directed towards Lance, obviously, so he sighed slowly before opening his eyes, still giving most of his attention on the wormhole rather than the happenings around him.

“I’m really fine. I mean, I’ve got a bit of a headache and I’d kill for a nap right about now, but otherwise, I’m okay.”

“So we can call down, then?” insisted the Red Paladin, dark eyes meeting Lance’s with a clear glint of worry beneath them.

The advisor appeared thoughtful as he moved back towards his usual spot at the front.

“Well, it really is up to the Prince to decide. I do suppose that the other paladins wouldn’t have any way to know that the wormhole might be able to stay open a little longer than the agreed upon time… For all intents and purposes, they _should_ still be planning to be up in the next…” He paused, checking his watch. “Six dobosh.”

Three pairs of eyes moved to him, and Lance felt a little bit of a pit form in his stomach. This was going to start happening more and more often, wasn’t it? He needed to be the one to make these calls.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. Oriande knows _he_ wanted to call down to his sister as well, just in case, but he tried to think like Father might have. Responsibility often equated to not getting what we want.

“Any activity from the Yellow Lion?”

There was a hint of concern in the older Altean’s voice when he said, “Well, nothing new. They both still appear to be planetside.”

Ugh. Of course. What the in name of King Goffery the Infirm was _taking them so long_?

“Open the channel,” Lance decided, if a bit reluctantly. “But be quick about it. If I need to keep open the wormhole for much longer, then I don’t want the transmission to be long.”

Coran spun in place and his fingers already were moving over the screen. “On it, your Highness!”

Nearby, he caught Pidge in his periphery get up from her seat and move towards the middle of the bridge, and Keith gravitated closer as well. Once again, the two caught eyes, and the Galra-hybrid offered him a small, appreciative smile, and Lance returned the expression _with no pink tint to his cheeks whatsoeve_ r before returning his attention to the main screen as the transmission went out to the Blue Lion.

“Brother? Is that you?” The wide, frazzled blue-eyes of his sister blinked at them all owlishly for a moment, before a clanging sound rang out around the hull and the entire foreground shook out of focus.

“Allura! What’s happening?” His instinct to lurch forward was barely contained, and instead he just held onto the consoles even harder. The skin stretched over the back of his knuckles was starting to pale. “Are you alright? Where are Shiro and Hunk?”

“I’m fine – fine, really. There were Galra waiting, but not many. Only automated ones, in fact, I don’t think there’s any active presence here,” she spoke hurriedly, only half-paying attention to the the screen in favor of what was presumably enemy combatants in front of her. “Hunk has found the Yellow Lion – Hunk, are you still on our channel? There should be a button on your dash to join the castle – ”

The Yellow Paladin’s face appeared on the screen beside Allura’s, and oh boy, did Hunk look _stressed._

“Hunk!” Pidge pumped a fist at the appearance of her friend.

“Hi Pidge! This is crazy, right? Hi Keith, Coran, Prince Lance! Oh, and hi Princess! You’re over here, heh,” he pointed from one corner to another, presumably mapping out his own monitor.

His big sister let out a world-weary sigh after a quick glance their way. “Good, there you are. It’s good to see your face again, I was worried once the caves began to… And when you and Shiro didn’t answer for some time, I thought – but that doesn’t matter now.”

Arms crossed tightly over his chest, Keith asked, “And where _is_ Shiro?”

“I’m trying to get to him now,” Hunk informed them seriously, all of them pausing to wince as something rocked the Blue Lion and, subsequently, Allura’s visual feed. The Prince’s veins felt like they’d been stripped of blood and replaced by ice, watching the Blue Lion with rapt attention, following each move and twist and dip of his sister’s expression, the grit teeth, the fierce gaze, the familiar posture of determination.

“Shiro is uninjured, thank freakin’ God,” Hunk continued, drawing Lance’s attention back towards the Yellow Lion, marginally. “But he’s trapped behind some rocks that collapsed in these tunnels. I had to drill through a wall to get to the Yellow Lion and that ended up making everything even less stable and the Galra got a good hit above surface and, you know, _boosh_ ,” he splayed out his hands momentarily before returning his focus to the controls. “I’m almost there, I think, but it’s slow going. I don’t want to make it worse by rushing and have the whole structure collapse.”

“The whole structure?” Coran parroted, and Lance could practically _hear_ him raising a dubious brow. “Are you in a facility of some sort? Where exactly _is_ the Yellow Lion?”

“They’re below the planet’s surface, but… this planet is – it’s terribly unstable. I’m not sure what the Galra were doing here,” the Princess sounded stressed, but her eyes were sharp when they flickered to the screen. “Brother, how much time do we have?”

“D-Don’t worry about me,” he said after a moment, trying to keep the worry and strain from his own voice. “I can go all day, Sis. Just get Shiro out safely, and get back here. Okay?”

The Princess flashed a smile, white teeth and all, at the screen before hopping off the comms. “Will do. See you soon.”

“Hunk, please, hurry,” Keith urged once the Princess was off the channel, though the Yellow Paladin’s expression told to them that he really needn’t be reminded of the urgency. Seeing as Hunk was underground, the lion’s backlighting was the only source of light and it made everything seem a little oddly shadowed and slightly more menacing as a result. Even so, the teen looked only slightly sweaty and pale beneath his helmet.

“I’ll get him out, don’t worry. We’ll be there soon!” And with a quick nod, the bridge silenced once again as the screens blanked out.

Well. Not worrying was easier said than done, but the Prince could at least be grateful to be re-energized, and he waited quietly with his eyes closed, trying to focus once again, waiting with baited breath as the dobosh passed.

The silence was torturous, and the Prince was truly approaching the last of his nerve, and he could feel his brow start to sweat slightly. The wear on his body was beginning to catch up to him, unfortunately, and his eyes darted around for a distraction.

They landed on the back of a messy head of black-hair. Well, it worked pretty well to distract him the first time, right?

“Keith, what’s a ‘fuck’?”

After one long, long tick of silence, Pidge burst out laughing and looked about ready to fall over, clutching her knees to keep her balance. The hybrid had gone noticeably rigid, but did not turn around; not that it mattered, his ears were sticking up and _twitching_. It was so stupidly cute, the Prince started to laugh along with the Green Paladin.

“It’s – it’s like,” the Red Paladin began, at long last, to explain, his visibly posture shrinking as he went on. “It’s a curse word we use. It seems like… Pidge thinks it might be similar to the way you guys use _quiznak_. Like, what the _quiznak_ was that – what the _fuck_ was that. M-Make sense?”

Nodding, Lance had figured as much after the way they said ‘shit’ earlier, but he was far from satisfied. “So is a ‘fuck’ a type of thing, then? Like an object, and you’re comparing it to something else? Or an action? Because you can say quiznaking, so is it, what, ‘fucking’?”

“Oh, Keith could tell _you_ all about fucking, your Highness.” Pidge cackled and squealed when Keith aimed a swift kick at her, and Lance and Coran both started to laugh in earnest at the Red Paladin’s clear chagrin. He had turned to glare at Pidge, and from a profile view, the Prince was able to really appreciate the lovely blush, almost indigo, that painted the other boy’s cheeks.

“Pidge, I literally hate you _so much_ ,” the Galra growled, and Lance couldn’t stop himself from outright _giggling_.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” the advisor jumped in now, caught up in the amusement. “So a fuck is an object, but it’s also an action? So there’s ‘a fuck’, ‘to fuck’ and ‘fucking’?”

Unfortunately, the teasing and distraction worked a little too well, and it ended up making the Prince a bit reckless. When he felt the sudden _tug_ in his mind of twin, massive energies shifting and warping within the planes of space-time, he choked on a breath of air and his hands gripped the consoles at his side as he doubled-over. Reality returned as a proper smack in in face – or maybe it would be more accurate to say a punch to his stomach, his lungs seizing and pulse fluctuating as his body was shocked from its state of physical awareness to overwhelming, spiritual and metaphysical providence. Voltron’s two pillars of support had maneuvered, at long last, through the wormhole, though for the Prince it felt a little bit like they’d ripped straight through his heart and head.

“Ooooooooookay,” he managed between a fit of coughs, some of the immediate flash of overwhelming sensation already beginning to fade. Lance assumed that meant the Yellow and Blue Lions had made a successful journey through the wormhole. “No more talk of fucking on the bridge while I’m holding open wormholes. That was… really not fun.”

Vaguely, he was aware of Coran’s hands fluttering nearby, unsure of how to support him but clearly prepared to brace him if he fell over, but Lance did not remove his vice-like grip on the consoles – not until he was sure his sister, Hunk and Shiro were safe.

After a moment of focus, the ebbing shock to his system almost completely gone, the Prince sighed irritably around the control room and he saw both paladins awkwardly glancing at him and each other.

The hybrid frowned, eventually holding his gaze. “Are you… uh, good?”

Lance had to laugh – though this time it was a little bit sardonic.

“Just peachy, thanks,” he swirled around some of the excess saliva in his mouth, which, like, _gross_ , but his physiological processes were clearly responding to the conditions of the Crystal and the Castle, a little tug-of-war between the two superpowerful entities – one constantly generating energy and the other consuming and converting it – in which he was the rope that was stuck between them.

And really, it didn’t hurt – Lance wasn’t just saying that to placate his sister or Coran. It was only disorienting, the sharp contrast for his mindscape from light banter to a terrifying surge of power made him dizzy, like his thoughts had broken over the surface of an ice bath after taking time to unwind in the steam of a sauna. Both mediums were still water, one liquid and the other vapor, but the contrast between soothing, al biet sticky, humidity and the sharp, chilly temperature left had left him feeling a little mentally shaken.

They all had a different source to focus their attention instead of at a slightly-short-of-breath Prince Lance, much to his gratitude, as Hunk’s face appeared on the main monitor. “Whoa, that was – different? Everything alright down there, Lance?”

“I’m – yeah. Good.” The Prince hardly even paid that part of the statement any mind. “What do you mean, different?”

“Mmm. The space in the warp stream was like, really wobbly for a second? I think I’m good it just felt like, weird. Shiro?”

His head turned to look at something out of sight, and the man leaned down slightly to join the frame. His armor was dusty, presumably from the cave collapse, but he looked fine otherwise. “Yeah, I’m alright. Got knocked off my feet for a second but no harm done.”

Lance didn’t even need to give the order. One look at the older Altean and he was already leaping into action, sending a ping out towards the Blue Lion.

The fact the Allura’s response was not immediate was enough to make his throat burn with bile, threatening to force its way out of his body.

_No, no. No no no. I can’t lose her, not her, not her, everyone is already gone, please, not my sister, please –_

After painstaking ticks, the transmission was accepted, and Lance didn’t even bother waiting to see his sister on the other end before letting his posture slump. His arms stayed on the consoles, now acting only as literal beams of support to bare his weight, but otherwise, he felt the incorporeal tethers that had held him so stubbornly between Castle and Crystal start to slacken, his body finally relieved of the untoward amounts of magical conductivity that had run through his body, a whitewater current that held had been holding so much gravity – literal and figurative – that he could finally breathe normally again.

The image on the screen revealed a very frazzled looking version of his sister, with her helmet off for Oriande knows what reason, and her shock of hair was poofy and windswept. Her expression was positively euphoric, however, and she did not appear to be hurt.

“I’m sorry it took me a moment – did the wormhole feel off to you too, Hunk?” She blinked purposefully, like she’d almost forgotten how and had to relearn the process.

“It was a little… wonky, but we’re all good here. I felt like Shiro’s mind like, might have melded with mine for just a quick second? Sorta like when we all saw Voltron back on Earth,” he directed his attention to Keith and Pidge, both of whom had relaxed considerably now that the three familiar faces were all confirmed as unharmed. “But we’re all sorted now. At least, I am. Shiro, what am I thinking about right now?”

“Uhh…” they heard the other man hesitant for a second, no longer in view as the Yellow and Blue Lions returned to their hangars. “I’m not sure… food, maybe?”

Hunk gasped, eyes wide. “Oh, oh, no, that’s bad, this is bad – Shiro can read my thoughts! Prince, Princess what does this mean? Oh, no, no, don’t think about something weird Hunk, this would be a bad time to think about anything uncouth – uh, puppies, kittens…”

At that, the older man chuckled uncomfortably. “Actually, it was just a guess… I can’t read your thoughts, Hunk.”

“Yeah, I mean, honestly?” Pidge interrupted, which caught the Yellow Paladin’s attention long enough to stop his frantic thoughts. “I’m pretty sure _Keith_ could have guessed that, and he’s about as socially discerning as a potato.”

“Potato?” Allura asked with a raised brow, still grinning and, in Lance’s opinion, unusually giddy. Maybe flying with Blue had brought out this side of her, less of a grandstanding princess and more a fierce pilot. She certainly looked happy, which was the most he could really ask for.

“An Earth thing,” Shiro supplied with a sigh over the sound of Keith’s indignation and Pidge’s teasing. “She means he’s not very socially adept.”

“I’m – well. Fine, okay!” The hybrid admitted with a petulant grunt, crossing his arms and kicking up invisible dust particles. The Prince watched his sister intently as she continually looked around the cockpit, hardly ever stopping to actually glance at the visual feed. “Maybe I’m a _little_ bad at social situations. But you try being purple and making friends!”

There was some more good-natured teasing at the Red Paladin’s expense – the Black Paladin made some remark about stealing vehicles as not being a great way to make first impressions – but the Lance merely stood towards the back of the room, still on the platform, as the three at the front of the bridge faced the three on the screens.

He just watched for a moment, thoughtful.

The paladins and Coran were already launching into discussion of strategy on how to handle the incoming Galran ship, but even that sobering conversation was punctured by the occasion bubble of laughter.

Lance couldn’t help it if his eyes traveled involuntarily to his sister’s wide smile, tinted slightly blue by the lights within the lion’s cockpit as they landed in their hangars.

It was annoyingly easy to imagine himself as the one in that seat.

Witnessing Allura like this, ruffled but practically glowing in the post-battle adrenaline, made the darker parts of his pulse stutter, thrown off-rhythm by unwanted jealousy, uneasy betrayal.

None of this was her fault. Lance knew that, but it seemed his emotions didn’t really care what logic had to say on the subject. His heart simply wanted to be upset and to fester quietly in the pit of his wounded pride, to have a little more time to be unhappy about everything. Strangers in the Castle, piloting the Lions, his feet still rooted on the center platform. Father and Mother dead, Altea gone, these tracks fates all crossed and wrong. His overwhelming lack of autonomy with whole situation.

The screens went black, and his attention was thrown back to the present when the very structure of the castle began to rumble in time with five mighty roars, the sonic strength of their call, the cry of a reunited pack, was enough to shift the tectonic pathways of the very planet.

Soon, the bridge was crowded by armored suits and slightly shaking laughter. They were all probably just as thrilled and terrified and overwhelmed as he was at that moment, but even beneath that, they looked happy. The Prince glanced up with just enough time to see Keith and Shiro sharing a smile, Pidge climbing astride Hunk’s shoulders and pointing to the heavens about “epic Monday nights,” and Sister babbling in Coran’s ear, almost giddily as she gestured with her hands, holding up four fingers.

 _The Paladins of Voltron_.

A smile crept upon his lips, feeling a mild sense of… what was it, pride, maybe? No, not quite – the feeling contained with a little more warmth than just that. It was accomplishment and satisfaction, tangled in a mix of roots around his ribcage, an efflorescent cluster of _hope_ that was beginning to bloom over the place his heart should be. Voltron had been a symbol of hope in the universe before he’d been born, and not long into his childhood had that promise of a better day been stomped out by the Galran Empire. Still, he remembered looking on at Father, at Blaytz and Zarkon and Trigel and Gyrgan, and feeling such a thing, once upon a time.

Sighing, the Prince let his hands fall at long last, stretching out his back and flexing his feet before joining them.

This ragtag team may be devastatingly unprepared, but quiznak, they were _his team_. He was _their_ Overseer, the only thing keeping the life of Voltron intact despite the loss of the previous generation. He would not let his petty envy get in the way of that, of _this_ , the formation of a new pack through the reunion of old spirits.

So long as the five of them could successfully form Voltron, then there was still a chance to tip the scales of justice, for the fates to finally revisit Emperor Zarkon’s ledger, for something to be done about those blood-red ink stains in his margins.


	5. The Rebirth of Voltron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Lance proves flirting isn't the only wordplay he's good at, and Keith doesn't know how to do feelings around pretty people.

**[LANCE]**

 

After seperating out his quintessence from that of Castle and the Crystal, the Prince felt a bit heady, his limbs tingling with the sensation of pins-and-needles as he reoriented himself to the present. He’d scarcely stepped down to join the paladins when Allura finally turned away from Coran and caught her brother’s eye, her own gaze blue and twinkling, little lilac spots catching in the brilliant overhead lighting. Lance tried his best to smile warmly, but there must have been some remaining edge to it from the way her breathy laughter abruptly cut out.

“Brother – what’s wrong?” She walked forward purposefully, hands outstretched to hold him steady. “Was it too much? Do you feel alright?”

Lance shook his head, feeling something eerily like his brain rattling around when he did, but managed a chuckle. “I’m _fine_ , like I said I would be. It just feels weird, way different than piloting anything else.”

Allura seemed ready to protest (indeed, she would have because, this was her _baby brother, thank you very much_ ), but the opportunity was lost when instead Lance threw his arms around her dainty shoulders and squeezed.

“I’m proud of you, Sis. You and Blue are a good team.”

He meant it, too. It had been their first time flying together, and they had fought, and they had _won_. It was clear the two made a better team than he and Blue could have ever hoped to be.

Without a word, her own arms wrapped around his waist in return, and Lance almost laughed when the force of the hug pulled him down a little, ending with him practically getting a mouthful of her mess of white hair; Allura might be older, but she’d been shorter than him for phoebs and it was never more obvious than when they were this close.

“Lance, I…” his big sister began to speak, but an incoming transmission forced its way over the primary the display on the bridge, the abrupt and harsh sound shocking the siblings apart and the paladins around the room silent.

“Princess Allura,” snarled a voice, clearly mocking. “How you’ve grown. And Altea’s _Vanguard_ is with you, too? A special day, indeed.”

Ah, yes, it was one of Father’s _favorite_ quiznaks. The Prince scarcely managed not to roll his eyes at the disparaging use of his military title.

“ _Sendak_ ,” his sister spat the name with no small amount of contempt, her lip curling in obvious distaste. Lance recognized him from holographics, still-frame images of battles fought over the past several decaphoebs, but Sendak was not so memorable as to have made an impression on a young Lance, once upon a time.

“That’s _Commander_ Sendak to you, brat. Now, be good a diplomat like Daddy raised you and surrender your Lions, or I _will_ destroy the planet and take them myself.”

_Oh, no._

Lance could practically _hear_ Allura’s blood pressure spike in righteous anger, her nostrils flaring and fists tightening beside him.

“You have _no right_ —”

Instinctively, Lance took a slight step in front of his big sister in an attempt to silence her, instead glaring at the screen. “Oh _,_ excuse us, _Commander_. What ever could you even _want_ with the Lions?”

Sendak growled, teeth bared, but Lance kept his expression unassuming, if not timid. More often than not, the higher a Galra’s military rank, the more swollen their ego, and the Prince had no reservations on exploiting an enemy’s weakness. _Especially_ when said enemy had just called his sister a _brat_.

“What kind of question is that?” Sendak demanded, appraising the siblings with a mixed look of resentment and something akin to disgust.

 ‘Vanguard Lance’ made a demonstration of twirling his ponytail, trying to really play up the part of an absent-minded seventeen-phoeb old. It was a habit he’d been known to do during his lessons, and it always tended to grate on the nerves of the senior tutors. “A simple one, actually. Surely something a _Commander_ could answer, no?”

Furiously, a voice whispered from behind him. “ _Brother, what_ are _you doing?_ ”

A sly smirk spread on his lips, and he turned his head imperceptibly over his shoulder in Allura’s direction. “Just making conversation, dear Sister.”

“Now, if we were to agree to give you the Lions,” Lance spoke loudly towards the monitor again. “What would that look like? Would you murder us before, or _after_ you take them to Zarkon? I just want to know what sort of ‘diplomacy’ I should be preparing myself for.”

Visibly seething, Sendak looked as if he would enjoy nothing more than to reach through the screen and wring the Prince’s neck. That was probably pretty accurate, judging by the murderous glint in his eye and his next few words.

“You’ve got _quite_ a bark to be the lesser of Alfor’s pups. The _spare_ , isn’t that right?” Both his mechanical eye and his real one turned to slits, voice dropping to a lethal tone. “I will enjoy being the one to finally wipe away the last of your race’s filthy stain from the universe.”

With an abrupt, innocuous _blip_ , the channel went dead and the bridge returned to still silence, all the earlier revelry sucked away with it. Sendak’s threat hung heavy in the air, thick like a muggy, summer night. Humid and sticky and uncomfortable.

With the broadcast now cut, the Prince’s bravado vanished in a puff of smoke. Truthfully, he had really just acted on impulse and then ran with the hope of it paying off. Lance gave the paladins, his sister, and Coran a wry smile – of course, they were looking back at him like he’d lost his quiznaking mind. Before the inevitable reprimanding could begin, he sucked in a sharp inhale before turning on his heel, fixed the pale yellow sash over his hips so as not to crease it, and promptly plopped himself down on the edge of navigational dais. Unconsciously, he began to run a hand through his hair, loosening the satin navy ribbon that held it secure, the one Mother had selected for him many moons ago.

“Uh, Prince Lance. I have a question.” Hunk said after several tense ticks.

Carding long fingers through his now-unrestricted tresses, the Prince let out a relieved sigh, both at the feeling and at someone finally breaking the tense silence.

“What is it?”

“Did you just… what… _was_ that? Are we going to die now?” quizzed the Yellow Paladin, his voice so ironically casual it was almost funny. “Can I have permission to start panicking?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “That was three questions, and you don’t need my permission to panic, although – I wouldn’t, but that’s your choice, you know?”

Before Hunk could respond, the clipped note of boots hammering on metal effectively seized his attention, flinching when they stopped in front of him.

What the Princess’s petite stature lacked while he was standing, it certainly made up for in terrifying authority when he was sitting. She towered over him in both the literal and metaphorical senses of the term, and he braced himself.

“ _What were you thinking?!”_ She snapped furiously, throwing up her hands. Lance schooled his expression to remain as cool as possible, but it wasn’t easy when she looked about ready to smack the ever-living quiznak out of him. His gaze followed both of her hands carefully, ready to dodge if she decided to go on the offensive. “Do you have a death wish? You’ve endangered this entire planet! These humans! All to _grandstand_ for some – some – ”

“ _Sister_ ,” Lance interrupted, and, trying to deescalate the situation, the Prince forced a chuckle while placing a hand over his heart in mock-hurt. “You _wound_ me, you know that? I’m not _that_ conceited.”

He watched the outrage dial down, however slight, in the smoothing of her furrowed brow. “I didn’t say… what do you mean?”

“Military men like Sendak are _predictable_ ,” Lance explained, widening his address to the rest of the paladins who had gravitated closer. (Though, he noted, they still remained an awkwardly ‘uncertain’ distance away. For Lions sake, he hoped they would make it past the social hurdle of this ‘newness’ stage soon – the general hesitation of their interactions was starting to get a little tiresome.)

“I’m sure he wasn’t ordered to say half of what he revealed, but it was easy enough to draw some interesting tidbits out of him. Just have to know which buttons to press.”

“Oh!” Shiro let out a little noise of acknowledgement, dropping a fist into his open palm. “You were getting information out of him. Phishing.”

“Fishing?” Lance repeated with a cocked brow. “The first part, yes, but I’m afraid you’ve lost me on that one.”

“Right, never mind. It’s just an Earth phrase.” Shiro rubbed his jaw and began to walk forward, closer to where the Prince still sat. He was still half-blocked from view as his sister continued to hold him in a bone-chilling glare, of which Lance was sort-of-not-really able to ignore. Quiznak, her eyes were sharper than a knife when she was angry, weren’t they?

Shiro continued to speak – small mercy, that, as he managed to draw some of Allura’s hostility away from being directed right at him. “So, then, did he mention anything that seemed… helpful?”

“Well, besides the fact the Commander would probably very much like to gut me over a funeral pyre?” Lance paused, biting back a smile. Was the threat very real, and could very well end in his own, likely brutal, death? Well, sure. But there was such sweet satisfaction in nettling into the carefully crafted defenses of the ‘strongman’ – Sendak was just a classic narcissist, your run-of-the-mill, fight-first-think-later type. Antagonizing men like him were just so _easy_ , of course Lance was going to get at least a _little_ enjoyment out of so effortlessly baiting him.

“I think so. Zarkon clearly does not realize I am the one whose life-force is linked to the Lions, presuming, like everyone else, that it would be Allura. Sendak addressed her first, and basically stated he wants to murder me; I think we can probably use that. Plus, I’m pretty sure they don’t know we have _all_ of the Lions – if Zarkon _knew_ all of the Lions were together again, I’m pretty sure he would have sent more than just one Commander. At best, he knows we have Blue, Yellow, and Red. He never knew where Black was being kept, and there’s no reason to believe they have any idea about the Green Lion.”

The Prince stopped playing with his hair and leveled his sister with what he hoped was a confident look. “If he wants to believe us the weakling children of a fallen King, so be it. Let them underestimate us; it’ll be at the cost of their own men. There’s a saying about it, I think – _pride cometh before a fall_.”

Allura was forced to concede, if a bit reluctantly, and she finally released him from the final clutches of her icy stare, turning her body towards the other paladins. Lance felt a shiver dance down his spine in response to his newfound freedom.  “Well… alright, we did at least learn something.” She shot him one last look, eyes narrowed, skeptical. “But don’t think we’re not talking about this later, baby brother. I’m _far_ from done with you.”

Pidge coughed and took a step forward. “So is there a plan or something? You basically invited him right to this planet, so…? How long do we have?”

Already swooping diligently towards the control panels, Coran pulled up the projection of Sendak’s incoming ship. “According to this, Sendak is about, oh, ten dobosh away.”

“ _Great_ ,” Keith muttered, wrinkling his nose. “So are we just going to sit around here and wait to die, or are we going to form Voltron?”

Lance beamed at the Red Paladin, who seemed more alarmed than anything to be on the receiving end of such an expression. It only made the Prince’s grin widen when those obscenely cute ears began to twitch in… irritation, interest? He wasn’t sure. He loved that he wasn’t sure, though. Another mystery about this bizarre hybrid for him to solve.

“Now isn’t that just poetic?” the Prince teased, only to release a quiet groan as he pulled himself back to his feet. “Fuzzy couldn’t have said it any better, I think, _Defenders of the Universe_. But, before you go and earn yourselves the title, there is one more thing.”

Stepping forward, he maneuvered around his sister and stopped upon reaching projection of Sendak’s ship, oscillating lazily in the center of the bridge. He paused the hologram between his hands, and biting the inside of his cheek, the Prince spun the image until the port aft of the ship was on display before him. Enhancing the image, Lance turned it around for the others to see.

The Green Paladin scrutinized the ship for a moment, pushing the metal wires over her face further up the bridge of her nose before saying, “Oh, shit.”

Lance nodded. He had to assume the use of their human curse word was probably appropriate in the context.

“When Keith and I were trying to find Shiro, we learned about different classes of ships. This ship has a prisoner hull, doesn’t it?”

“That’s correct, Pidge,” his sister stepped beside him, frowning at the visual. “That would be this part, here. We can’t destroy the ship outright or we might harm the prisoners, should there be any onboard.”

“Can’t you do a scan? Thermal, or maybe biorhythms?” Hunk suggested, brow furrowed at the protruding section of the back dock that Allura had pointed to. After a pregnant pause, the Yellow Paladin realized all the Alteans were staring at him and he blinked around. “What, oh, do you not have that? I just assumed…”

“No, no, we do – that’s, that’s just, a great idea. Excellent, Hunk, thank you,” his sister said, and the Blue and Yellow Paladins shared a smile. “Coran?”

Out of the corner of his eye, the Prince spotted Coran at his usual post, already trying to run a read on the ship. He doubted they were near enough to perform such a reading, but that didn’t mean the idea was a completely loss.

“Afraid we’re still too far away, Number… Four.” Coran performed a quick measurement with his hands of Hunk’s size in relation to the other paladins. Lance managed not to snort – could Coran really not be bothered to learn their names? “Too much interference. By the time we get within range to do such a scan, we might be too vulnerable for it to even be useful.”

Lips pursed, Lance nodded slowly as he looked around the control bay, considering the best course of action. He didn’t want to brush off the task onto someone else, but Coran was right, and there were lives at sake so he would have to swallow his pride on the matter.

“One of you will have to do it,” he said, dryly. “Coran and I will be able to give you some cover from the Castle defenses, but I doubt I’d even have enough time to get us in the air before Sendak gets here. Even if I could, I don’t think I can manage actually navigating the ship and a firefight at the same time – not yet.”

“Nothing wrong with that, my boy,” Coran nodded in his direction. The words weren’t meant to be patronizing, but Lance only just managed to suppress the reactive grimace that tugged at his lips.

“Alright, team, you heard the Prince.” Shiro met Lance’s eye and gave him a stern nod. It was weird and contained much more respect than he was used to – not the trained respect that came with royalty, the _I’m-forced-to-be-nice-to-you_ brand of deference he’d come to expect out of most people; this was more meaningful, a look of approval and of… what, equals? Leader-to-leader? It was unusual, but not unwelcome. Not at all, in fact, and Lance crooked a smile in return before stepping up to the platform beneath the Crystal once again.

“Everybody to their Lions. Keith, since the Red Lion is the fastest, see if you can get in there quickly and do a read of the hull. If we have to evacuate prisoners, then we should try to avoid fighting for as long as possible – they won’t know to expect the Green or Black Lions, so if we have to, Pidge and I will dock and get the prisoners out. If that’s the case, we’ll need a distraction while Pidge and I can get close – Allura, Hunk, do you think you could stage giving up your Lions, at least long enough to give us time to get in there?”

When Blue and Yellow paladins both gave firm nods, Shiro repeated the action and met each and every gaze around the bridge. “Sendak isn’t going to wait around for us to prepare ourselves, so we need to be focused. Everyone understand?”

The paladins all bobbed or gave bereft words of assent, needing no further instruction before turning right back to the hangars from which they’d come not ten dobosh ago. (A vague part of Lance’s mind considered that it may have been wise to at least give Hunk some sort of receptacle to empty his stomach into before heading out again, but the opportunity had come and gone.)

As he watched the retreating forms of the five of them exit the bridge, the same sinking, irksome feeling from earlier when he’d sent them through the wormholes.

_Please don’t die._

“Good luck, Paladins.” The Prince said with as much confidence he could muster, and he was pleased that his voice came with some timbre of authority.

Quietly, he made one more request once the doors all closed, leaving him in the eerie silence of the bridge once again.

“ _Be safe.”_

Alone again (with the exception of Coran, of course), Lance let out a breath and began to tie off his hair – his hair getting in the way seemed like Distraction 101, and he wanted to be completely focused for the oncoming fight. Possibly their only fight, because they might all die – if the Paladins fail to form Voltron, they would all certainly be killed. If there were any doubt to Sendak’s fatalistic intentions before, the Prince had effectively signed away any chance the humans or the hybrid had of mercy right over to the Galra the moment he opened his mouth. They _could not_ fail.

“Coran, the comms,” he said, bringing his palms to rest over the smooth, almost chilled surface of the power nodes that connected him to the Castle and Crystal. Together, they made a simple circuit, he the switch that bonded the conductors to the load, and all at once the completion of the cycle had his blood burning with soulfire energy, his eye scales thrumming in time with his heartbeat. The similar markings along his body, hidden beneath his Vanguard uniform, had the same level of responsiveness, as Lance was practically able to feel the rise of power to the surface of his skin over the zigs and zags of his heritage, of his lost people.

He would _not_ fail.

 

* * *

 

**[KEITH]**

The exit door to the Red Lion’s hangar could not close fast enough, in Keith’s not-so-humble opinion. He had had an _agonizingly_ difficult time paying attention to much of any of the last several minutes of discussion, and once the satisfying _whir_ of metal closing over him blocked out the image of the bridge, a breath he hadn’t known he was holding sputtered from his dry throat.

The floor began to sink, sort of like an Earth elevator, and his Galra-aided hearing picked up on just the gentlest of whispers, something he was certainly not meant to hear.

“ _Be safe_.”

How the _fuck_ was he supposed to focus on fighting a bloodthirsty Galran Commander or scanning for prisoners when the Prince was – was so _distracting_?

Keith was already having a terrible time concentrating, even as the pathways around him continually shifted – he was going down a zip line, through a hole in the floor, into what he would later learn was called a “speeder,” all in a matter of seconds – and he was not paying any attention whatsoever. Thank god for his trained reflexes, because he was unable to think of much else besides the stupidly transfixing cascade of long, ashen hair, tinted by just the slightest suggestion of frosty blue, spilling over the Prince’s shoulders, or of eyes so shockingly vivid they reminded him of the sea beneath the midday sun, constantly catching flecks of teal and turquoise beneath the gigantic crystal that lit up the whole bridge.

Shit. Keith’s heart was definitely going to crack through his fucking ribs if he didn’t calm down.

It simply wasn’t fair. Who gave him the right to ever look like… like _that_?

Of course, he _noticed_ the Prince was… _not bad looking,_ from the moment he’d seen him standing outside the Castle, hailing the Red Lion. But, then, just now, Lance had _beamed_ at him – a flash of white teeth, stupidly high cheekbones framed by shining little zig-zags at the corners of his eyes – why in the world did he look so _happy?_ All Keith had done was offer-up a half-sarcastic plan, and the boy went and pulled a face like _that_ , fond and soft and really, _really_ fucking pretty?

That smile should be _illegal_. Forbidden by space law, or something, because he simply had way too much power if he could just go around _looking_ at people like that, if _this_ was how it felt to be on the receiving end of it.

That had to be, like, a public health hazard or something, right?

Just as Keith was starting to coach down his blood pressure, gripping the controls tightly in the cockpit, that _same damn face_ appeared beside him in the Red Lion. “Alright Fuzzy – whoa, you good?”

He startled, but managed to play it off. “Sorry, yeah. Just not used to the displays in here.”

Lance seemed to find that acceptable, and Keith couldn’t help but notice he’d tied his hair back up again. These were not things he had been noticing before, but now he was suddenly hyperaware of everything having to do with that angular face, like the delicate bow of his lips, or the pleasant contrast of his stark-white armor clothing against smooth brown skin. Much to his own annoyance, Keith could feel his ears beginning to twitch beneath his helmet, now pressed awkwardly against the sides of his head.

Ignoring the weird fluttery feeling in his stomach – because no, he was not about to confront any sort of emotion _now_ of all times – Keith began to steer Red out of the castle and was quickly met by the remaining Lions, sans Yellow.

“Makes sense, I suppose you probably don't have anything like Voltron on your Earth,” Lance mused, a playful lilt to his tone. “I just forgot to mention, I’m not sure how familiar any of you are besides Allura with Galra ships but – you and Pidge in particular will need to look out for that big ol’ ion cannon on the top of the ship. The Castle particle barrier could probably take a few hits from it, and maybe even the Yellow Lion, but it certainly won’t be pretty if one of the less armored Lions get caught in its path. Be careful.”

The Prince’s surprisingly grave statement was quickly punctured by another – another of _those_ smiles, and, good god, Keith’s eyes quickly scanned the dash for an _abort everything please_ button. Finding none, he was forced to struggle out something of a reply.

“Noted,” he coughed, voice tight, and the Prince rolled his eyes at him.

“You’re so _chatty_ , Keith. Good to know you’re at least focused. Comms are open if you need anything.”

And just as quickly as it had come, the practically glowing face of the Prince vanished and Keith was left to the peaceful whirring of the Red Lion’s interior. Outside, Hunk finally joined them in front of the castle, giving some sort of mumbled apology about missing his zip line that Keith barely heard.

The secondary senses that had pricked at his awareness after first feeling Red in the desert, which had then anchored completely with tenterhooks yanking into the space between his ribs after finding her, had starting… what, _tugging_? That was close – it was restless, a sort of periphery rumbling that wasn’t quite within him but it wasn’t quite without him, either. It was just Red’s… energy? That sounded right. Red’s energy coursing through him, intertwining with his own, and the shadow of her response to the conversation made him scowl.

She found the Prince _amusing_. No, wait – the shadow flickered and changed shape.

Red was _laughing_ at him. She found _his_ chagrin with the Prince amusing moreso than the Prince himself.

“Gee, thanks,” he muttered before flying off behind Shiro’s lead, punching down the persistent thoughts of dazzling blue eyes and the gentle slope of a pointed nose that continued to nettle their way into the forethought of his mind.

Much to his gratitude, he managed to maintain some concentration once they were in the throes of the mission; he managed to get near, undetected, by Pidge’s suggestion of using Arus’s moon to hide his mass from potential scanners. Even so, the closer he flew, the more his thoughts continually turned to, _Christ, that is a_ big _fucking ship, isn’t it?_ He was used to the models of ships from the Garrison – even the fighter class ships he’d gotten to fly were all small, single-crew ships. The largest ship he could remember seeing in-person, with the recent exception to the castleship, was the one that had taken off for Kerberos, never to be seen again. (The castleship, in his opinion, didn’t exactly count – it still mapped onto the schematic of a _castle,_ not a ship, in his mind, despite the Altean’s insistence that it could indeed fly.)

Still, _still_ , this warship was a monster by comparison. Even in the relatively large Red Lion, he felt like a blip of a blip, but he supposed that was to his advantage in some ways; maneuverability and speed were on his side, and even if the ship _did_ notice him, with its bulk it would have a hell of a time _catching_ him.

That thought drove him on, giving a noise of affirmation over the comms when Shiro asked if he was ready, and Keith pushed the thrusters forward with startling, thrilling speed. Following Pidge and Hunk’s instructions, he managed to scan the designated part of the ship for the biorhythms with ease, though the returns were neither surprising nor reassuring.

“It looks like… a little less than two dozen prisoners? Maybe twenty.” His voice came out clipped, disciplined, and he was relieved in spite of the general sense of _oh shit, I can’t believe we’re about to do this_ in the air that he was managing to keep a level-head.

“Copy that, Keith. At least we were prepared for this,” Shiro paused for a moment, presumably thinking over the next few moves in his head. “Get back to the moon for now to give yourself cover from those scans, but remember, try to hold off fighting as long as possible. Everyone else – positions as we discussed. Pidge, let’s go.”

The procession from there went off, relatively, without a hitch.

Per the Prince’s suggestion, Allura remained silent on the public comms – the longer they could keep the Galra in the dark as to who was piloting what, the better, so Hunk was the one to actually hail Sendak. It ended up working to their advantage, seeing how absolutely _terrified_ the Yellow Paladin sounded; his voice definitely made for a convincing surrender than the Princess’s often severe, sharp tone would have.

Pidge and Shiro kept their own communications short and quiet, evidently having some amount of success in terms of sneaking through the base, but such stealth could only last for so long.

“What’s happening out there?” Keith murmured, seeing a pastel purple light start to emit from the center hub of the ship – he could tell, based off the origin, that it wasn’t the ion cannon Lance had warned him about.

Urgently, the Prince spoke into the open channel, “What is it? I can’t see anything from here – Sister, don’t take any unnecessary risks, _please._ ”

“It’s fine, Brother,” she shot back. “It’s likely just scanning us.”

Hunk’s own voice was weary. “I don’t know, it seems like it’s growing brighter – doesn’t a scan usually remain laterally consistent? It’s definitely getting brighter.”

“ _Please_ , don’t get caught,” bemoaned the Prince. “Does it look like a cannon? Or a tractor beam? Describe it to me, please. I swear to Oriande I will – ”

“I think we’ve almost gotten to the hull,” Pidge interrupted over the comms. “We just need a few more minutes and we’ll be good to go. Try to buy some time.”

“Buy some time? How? Should we just dance and sing for them?” Hunk asked, sarcastically. Pausing, he added, “Wait. Would that work?”

“No,” replied Keith, the Prince and Princess, Shiro, and Coran simultaneously. Before anyone had the chance to add to the automatic dismissal, the light finally held its pitch and began to lightly _whir_.

Keith didn’t know _exactly_ what that meant, but he had a strong sense it wasn’t good.

“Get out of there!” He urged, and after just a beat of radio silence, both Blue and Yellow Lions shot out of the way – and not a moment too soon, it seemed, as a brilliant, transparent river of purple light carved through the black skies, stilling all in its path like a vacuum.

“A tractor beam,” said the weak voice of the Princess, almost sheepish. “A very good call, Keith.”

The Prince groaned loud enough it was picked up on the mics.

“Thank me later,” the Red Paladin shot back, deathly calm as he pushed Red over the moon’s surface to gain speed before leaping out of its weak gravity. “Ships coming in on your left flank.”

Out of the front monitors, he could see both Hunk and the Princess move just in time with an incoming storm of blasters from enemy fighter ships.

Driven by the Red’s guiding intuition – _roll, dodge, feint right, spin –_ and his own instincts as a pilot — _thrust, break, pivot, fire_ — they shoved their way directly into the reinforcements, catching the fighters unaware as Red captured a vessel in her jaws, tossing it over their shoulder as it careened with another ship.

Holy shit. This was _amazing._

_They_ were amazing.

She… he… _they_ roared? Yes. They let out a fearsome sound, a sonic cry of satisfying anger, finally reaping what they’d both sown of well-earned vengeance. Keith turned Red’s controls sharply, swiveling in midair and splitting the barrage of smaller ships with a well-placed shot from Red’s mouth cannon right through the center, forcing them to scatter.

Unconsciously, a pleased, enthralled peel of laughter fell from his lips, a wordless call of: _yes, finally._ This is what he had been waiting for, and now that they were together, Keith realized how badly Red had wanted it, too; the Galra had taken something from both of them – Keith had gotten some of his lost family back, but Red’s loss was irreplaceable. The fury and devastation she felt was as real in him his own ire, pulling on the vice of his heart, and together, their bond shaped into an exhilarating sort of destruction, fire and fury and fiercely protective of their pack. _Their_ pack.

Call him a masochist or an adrenaline junkie, but now that they were fighting, _really_ fighting — not confined to the desert as a war raged on without them, killing and maiming the people they held dear; not running from Earth, barely managing to escape the clutches of the Galra; not searching for the Green Paladin’s Lion, not discussing or planning or thinking about everything, too much of everything —  this was what they were made to do.

Thrown into the midst of combat, dodging a blast from above or clawing through a line of drones, the fever pitch of their spirits was molten, smelted, galvanized into a unified state. Like this, Keith could _feel_ his heart own be raked of over the coals of the blistering heat of Red’s energy, but the burns were thrilling and dangerous and he was sure he’d never felt so alive.

They tore through ships. Blasted through enemies. Scraped, shot, and smashed their way through anything that wasn’t their pack.

They were so powerful, it was _dangerous_ and the feeling was positively intoxicating.

“Okay, we’re clear of the ship!” Shiro’s voice cut through the Red Paladin’s mania, the familiar timbre of his commanding tone enough to relax Keith of his crushing grip of the controls, to temper the quite literal _buzzing_ of his body, at least enough to pay attention to his team in a more immediate sense – something more than the volley of _protect, destroy, protect, destroy_ , a cadence of which so conspicuously mirrored the unequal measures in his chest: _ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum_.

“Thank Oriande,” the voice of the Prince came over the comms. “We’ve successfully hailed the escape pod – they’re coming planet-side. Not a moment too soon, either – it looks like our good old friend Sendak has already got the ion cannon back online.”

“ _Already_?” Hunk complained. “I feel like I _just_ knocked it out.”

Allura jumped in, sounding a bit breathless – now that he thought about it, Keith did recall catching a few flashes of the Blue Lion during the middle of their firefighting. Yellow had been noticeably absent; presumably, going off the conversation, Hunk had gone to knock out that ion cannon.

“Yes, well, Galra technology is highly advanced. I can’t say I’m surprised, but it did buy us some time. No singing or dancing required, either.”

“Thanks, Princess,” the Yellow Paladin replied glumly, a slight pout still evident in his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith spotted Red’s dash showing four small icons on a screen, all beginning to move away from Sendak’s cruiser. Keith immediately spun around and pressed Red to catch up with them, easily avoiding the few of the stray blasts that chased after them.

“No one stay too close until we’ve re-grouped in the upper atmosphere, we don’t want to make an easy target for that cannon.”

Each paladin offered a terse, “copy that,” with the exception of Pidge. Privately, Keith guessed that meant their search of the prisoners was not fruitful – well, not in the way she may have wanted.

Hunk began to ask a rather prudent question, one that Keith had been wondering himself. “Okay, so, once we’re together, how exactly do we _form_ – ?”

The rest of the words were lost over the comms, a brilliant ray of amerthine light blasting somewhere off to Keith’s left, so intense that he squinted and steered Red away from the offending light reflexively. For such a massive emission of energy, the ion beam thundered past in a deafened silence, casting a deathlike quiet through the soundless void of space. It carried with it no terrifying cry or crash – this was quiet, _lethal_ , and the waves of pastel radiation emitting enough sonic force to cause Red to falter slightly in their forward trajectory.

Then, as immediately as it had flown by, the imposing blast from the concentrated ions smashed into the particle barrier surrounding the castle with such devastating force, Keith felt his own lungs seize up, his breath failing him, heart stuttering with a painful thud against his ribs.

A crackling mist, thick with patterns of electric, purple energy, clouded the castle in the aftermath of the impact, but, thank fucking god, behind it still stood the Castle, obstinate and – in Keith’s opinion – seeming much more badass after having taken a direct hit and not having a scratch on it.

But, _christ_ , Lance wasn’t kidding. That was one _hell_ of a weapon.

Allura, however, was less a little less impressed and a bit more panicked. “ _Lance_? _Coran_? Are you both alright?! Someone respond!”

“A-All good here, Princess!” chimed the Altean advisor, sounding a little winded. “Just shaken a bit! Prince Lance are you – ?”

“I’m alright,” he cut Coran off, voice tight. “Coran, target their main weapons – we might not be able to disarm the ion cannon, but let’s knock out some of the incoming assaults on the paladins. Fire on my mark.”

“Yes, your Highness!”

Straight ahead, Keith came to rear up on the controls just as he fell into the space beside Shiro.

“Alright, team, let’s do this!”

Around him, he sensed more than he saw Pidge close-in ranks, and Hunk too was beside him.

“Princess? Are you with us?” The Green Paladin asked, seeming to come up with the same headcount as Keith.

Over the comms, a string of curses that Keith could only sort of understand came from the Castle. “Quiznak, what are you _– get to the paladins, Allura!_ ”

“I – but – ” the Blue Lion was floating almost completely still, hesitantly looking back at the assault on the Castle. A dozen or more projectiles were exchanged between the warship and their own base, particle barrier sustaining hit after hit.

“I swear to Oriande if I have to say I am _fine_ one more time I will.. _._ Right now, you are _not_ my sister, or the Princess, or even _Altean! You’re_ the _Blue Paladin_ , and Voltron is the only thing that should matter. Now _go!_ ”

Keith felt a general unease over the channels, awkward as the Blue Lion turned around and fell into formation with the others.

“Uhh…” Hunk cleared his throat. “Well, then – how do we do this? I don’t see like, a _Form Giant Robot Man_ on my dashboard.”

“No, it’s not like that,” said the Princess, and a small wave of relief washed over the rest of them to hear her back to the same matter-of-fact tone as usual, refined and guarded all at once. “You have to connect with your Lion, feel the bond between you and through that, all of our minds should connect and Voltron should form.”

There was a long, _long_ , _l-o-n-g_ pause, flying in stony silence, before Pidge let out a frustrated grunt and turned tail, landing on a stretch of Arus’ surface.

“Nothing’s happening. We need to try something else. Is there anything less… magicky-soul-stuff we could do?”

“ _Combine!_ ”

Keith opened his mouth to make a suggestion when he was thrown sideways, almost knocked completely out of his seat, and both he the Red snapped irritably in response – he verbally and she with a frustrated growl. “What the _fuck_?”

A very cagey Hunk replied, “Uh, that was me, I thought if we just _oomph’d_ together, we might, ya’know? Sorry!”

Allura huffed over the comms and slid down into the dirt beside where Pidge had landed, blasting two incoming smaller drones out of the sky. “Pidge is right, if you cannot connect with your Lions willingly we may have to try to… I’m not sure, _elicit it_ , somehow.”

“Lance, any ideas?” asked the Black Paladin, sounding strained – justifiably so, in Keith’s opinion.

Righting himself and his Lion, Keith squared his shoulders and touched down beside her, waiting for a response.

“Mmm,” the voice of the Prince hummed in his ear after a few quiet seconds, lighter and softer than it had any right to be given the dire circumstances. The Red Paladin ended up biting his lip as he unconsciously turned back to face the Castle. “Each of you have something in you and your Lion that should bind you. Try to find that, whatever it is, and latch onto that feeling. Focus on it, and _apply_ it to your pack.”

“I asked for _less_ magicky-soul-stuff, not _more_ ,” bemoaned Pidge, but the complaint held little weight as her breath caught—all of their breaths caught, in fact – as another terrifying spout of raging, violent energy sliced through Arus’ atmosphere and struck the Castle with such force the ground beneath the Red Lion quaked and cried.

This time, as the tempestuous purple lightning faded, the particle barrier appeared in much worse shape than the first time – it crackled and sparked, great fissures spiderwebbing over the point struck by the Galra.

“We must hurry – we _must_!” Princess Allura urged over the channel, a twinge of desperation seeding back into her tone.

“Shiro?” Keith urged, grinding his molars.

There was a tense pause, and the man eventually huffed. “Okay – okay, let’s just – let’s try to fly in formation, on my count this time, and then do as Lance suggested. If there’s… _something_ you feel with your Lion, focus on it once we take off. Alright?”

Keith nodded, his grip over the controls tightening once again. He closed his eyes and listened for Shiro’s count, trying to remember that lingering sense of heat, like being touched by fire but not burned – never burned, not like his Dad.

“Three.”

Red’s fire wasn’t of the same nature that had taken his Dad away. It had that same power and came with the same promise of destruction, but this was not regular heat that could catch on the dry desert brush. For this, there was no tinder, no flint to generate a spark.

_“_ Two.”

_He_ was the spark, Red was the flint, and together, they could wield the embers, shape the smoke, and _embody_ the flames. They could fight, and fight, and together, they could _win._

“ _One_!”

Instinctively, he drove Red forward, eyes flying open with an inferno in his blood, boiling and raging and chaotic and _free_. Beside him, he sensed the other Lions bounding towards the edge of the cliff face from where they would take off, felt them leap in time with him and –

“Oh! I’m feeling something!” Pidge announced the moment their collective paws left the surface, and Hunk gave a little squeal of anticipation.

The Princess sounded confused. “Wait – this isn’t, this isn’t right…”

“Uh, guys,” Shiro deadpanned. “Look up.”

Keith looked up.

_Fuck._

“ _No,_ ” the Princess breathed the word, the single syllable managing to sound like poison.

They’d been caught in that fucking tractor beam.

Pidge’s voice came out meek, shell-shocked. “ _Shit_.”

“We can’t die here!” The Yellow Paladin sounded ready to cry.

As much as it pained him to admit, Keith felt the dread snuff out what little hopeful flame he’d had. The bond he had with Red – it wasn’t strong enough. They failed the team, and each other. “I… It’s been an honor flying with you all.”

An enraged voice cut into their sinking sense of shared defeat.

“I said _don't get caught_ in the tractor beam, didn’t I? It was the _one thing_ I asked! I even said please!” Lance hissed, sounding more exhausted than ever, but his words remained fierce and voice unwavering. “You can _do_ this, I know you can. Forget about the tractor beam – forget about _your_ Lions. You’re not focusing on _each other_. I can feel it, _you_ , and you’re still divided. You need to work together. Stupid quiznaks.”

“H-Hey!” gasped the older Altean sibling. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that!”

“ _I won’t be speaking to you at all if you’re DEAD, now focus!”_

Keith almost laughed – seriously, they were choosing _now_ to bicker? They were near enough to the warship now that Keith could start to make out individual features over the surface, turrets and impressions in the metal.

“Enough!” Shiro’s voice snapped, a taut whip ready to lash out again if necessary. “We can _do this_. We have to believe in ourselves, we have to believe in _each other_. We can’t give up — _we are the universe’s only hope._ Everyone is relying on us – we can’t fail. We _won’t_ fail.”

The Red Paladin’s voice caught in his throat, a choked sort of gasp like breathing after being underwater, desperate and greedy to drink in new air. All at once, and quite entirely, like rays of the sun cleaving through rolling storm clouds, he felt every messy and confusing emotion he’d experienced in the past day – the past year – since he was thirteen, earlier, before his Dad died, and even before that – he felt real clarity seep into his senses, a toxicity as potent and invisible as the air he breathed, suddenly banished from his lungs, and heart, and mind.

They were impassioned anger, but they were more than that. They were the thoughtfulness of the open skies, the adaptability of the endless seas; they were the thriving potential of a woodland, and the reliable, steady head of the great sprawls of land.

“If we work together, we’ll _win_ together!”

_Voltron._

 

* * *

 

**[LANCE]**

“ _Stars_ …” the Prince said, the sound scarcely forming over his breath. “They’ve done it.”

They were much too far away to see, to actually behold the magnificence of Altean engineering, magic, and science that Father had poured his heart and soul into – but Lance needn’t actually _see_ it. It was like the very same toil that had been used to craft the Lions, the sweat, blood and tears that greased the axles, the spirit that powered the engines, the manifest connection to the elements that thrummed through the thrusters, the dash, the pilots themselves – it was like all of it had reached out, a call over silent dawn, a cry of life that said _I’m here,_ a hopeful resonance with his own soul that he was weak but to accept, to try to answer and be worthy of.

Over the comms, a mess of stuttered voices all cried out, mixtures of terror and excitement; the thrilling, overwhelming sound of a force of nature realizing its potential.

“ _I can’t believe it!_ ” Shiro, proud and disbelieved.

“ _We did it! We formed Voltron!”_ Pidge, fierce and motivated.

“ _We’re actually doing this?”_ Keith, fervid and almost amused.

_“Oriande_... _”_ His sister, breathless and emotional. She deserved this. Lance smiled for her.

And Hunk. “ _I’m a leg! Prince Lance – are you seeing this?! You were right! I am a **LEG**!_”

Oh, Hunk. The Prince was definitely going to like this Yellow Paladin.

“I _am_ seeing it _,_ definitely.” Their energy was addicting, contagious, burning through him like wildfire. He laughed with more life than he had since Altea had been lost. “As much as I hate to be _that_ guy, it looks like their ion cannon is almost fully charged again and I’d really like not dying today. We probably can’t take another hit.”

Shiro took that knowledge to heart, spurring the paladins on -- just as the head of Voltron should. “Let’s get that cannon, team!”

Coran enhanced the zone in the lower atmosphere in which Voltron had formed, magnifying it enough that they could actually lay eyes on the creation, one the sole of hope in the universe. The advisor was bubbly and energetic and swinging around the bridge like it was a coming-of-age party and he was both the guest of honor and the harebrained party planner. The enthusiasm with which such a sight as Voltron evoked from onlookers was never something to tire of, Lance decided.

It was the rebirth of hope, and it was a beautiful sight indeed.

With almost comical ease, the paladins carved into Sendak’s warship – ripping pieces from the exterior, shooting strategic beams through the ship, destroying and overwhelming the Galran force in a matter of dobosh.

A massive storm of fire rained down upon the Arusian ocean, clouds of smoke and dust clouding the atmosphere as the ruined remains of the ship fell down to the surface. His hands slid from their position on the control columns with a bit less disorientation – the motion was slowing becoming more familiar – and turned around, beckoning Coran to follow him outside the Castle to meet the paladins as they returned.

Without wasting a tick, the two bolted the length of the Castle hallways, Lance letting slip a quiet, euphoric little laugh that rang out that was fueled by a mantra: _they’ve done it, they did it,_ we _did it, Voltron is back, Voltron, Voltron, Voltron._

How long had it been since the Galra had been knocked down a peg, served with an overwhelming defeat? Father had won some battles in the past ten decaphoebs, sure, but the Coalition’s loss of Voltron when they lost their original Black Paladin had been devastating.

But this? This was a changing tide, a full moon under a midnight sea, a shifting in the push and pull of fates.

The Prince nearly tripped over himself as he abruptly stopped outside the castle (curse his long legs). The five paladins were a mix of jogging or walking forward to meet he and Coran on the stone bridge that connected the Castle to the planet’s surface, their helmets off, expressions sharing in that same, slightly-hysteric but overjoyed thrill of _triumph_.

“Brother!” Allura called out, literally _hurling_ the Blue Paladin helmet at Coran with enough force to emit a frightened sound from the advisor, her boots pounding the pavement and crashing into him, a hug so fierce he was absolutely sure it would bruise later. It didn’t matter. For now, even the twinge of bitterness that poisoned the well of all things Blue was forgotten, and he squeezed her, picked her right up and twirled around.

“You did it, Sister. _You did it_.”

She laughed, and he did too, and for the first time in so long he felt like the seventeen-phoeb old that he really was – he wasn’t a Price, or a life-force, or a boy playing war with a title that he didn’t earn. He was just Lance, and this was just his sister, Allura, and they’d just been a part of something incredible.

After a few ticks of spinning, long enough to be at least a little dizzy, he placed Allura down and beamed up at the three-and-a-half approaching humans, sweeping his gaze over each of their faces, marveling in their mixed looks of pride and satisfaction. Hunk and Pidge were chattering with each other, engaging in some sort of bizarre hand-shake with some chanting involved, Shiro smiled upon the siblings and said something to Coran, and Keith was looking at him with ears pressed down against his head – was that shyness? Oh, ruggle, whatever it was – it was _cute_.

Lance bit his lip, offering, “Well, Fuzzy, you guys really kicked the… _fuck_ out of them…?”

A flicker of surprise flashed over the half-Galra’s expression, golden eyes widening before he burst out laughing. The other paladins quirked a brow up at the Red Paladin’s sudden giggles, punctured by a snort or two, and Lance just grinned sheepishly at their curious looks. Perhaps he was blushing, just a bit. Not much. A _tiny_ amount.

“I don’t think you’re using that word correctly,” his sister answered, snorting and flicking his arm in pseudo-scolding. “And you probably shouldn’t use it at all. You curse too much in _our_ language, baby brother.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He scratched his cheek, reluctantly dragging his attention away from the flushed purple expression of the boy across from him, his heart feeling warm and fluttery in his chest. “I think I used it just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends! just wanted to let you all know, for the holidays I'm taking some request for drabbles or short stories -- please submit an 'ask' on [my tumblr](https://real-fakedoors.tumblr.com/post/180923207504/verobird-christmas-prompts-some-i-made-up-some) if you'd like a story prompt filled!
> 
> (NSFW is OK, but you have to specify that in the ask please!)


	6. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, the Paladins of Voltron begin to adjust to their new roles as members of a team, Keith tries to get a handle on his own errant emotions, and Lance can't sleep, but at least he's getting the hang of this whole "piloting the castle" thing.

The castle lights, which he’d learned changed on their own to simulate the length of a day on Arus, had not come on.

It was not yet dawn, then, when the castle alarms began to blare overhead.

Rising early had never been a particular problem, seeing as Keith liked to get things over and done with, so it wasn’t by any grand force of will that he rolled out of bed.

...and right onto the floor.

Shit. Right.

Keith groaned and shifted his weight so he was flat on his back, blinking dully at the foreign ceiling, illuminated by a pulsing red light.

This wasn’t his bed, nor his dad’s shack – it was much too loud to be the desert.

His ears had folded back as low as they could against his head on instinct, and the Red Paladin let out a low grumble as he pulled himself to standing, rubbing his elbow at the point it had made contact with ground. Who designs a place with _metal_ floors? That’s like, the _least_ comfortable material he could imagine from which to construe a home, but it was at least a roof over his head for the time being so he figured he really shouldn’t complain.

Keith hadn’t been sleeping particularly soundly, but that didn’t make him any less irritable when Coran’s voice, shrill with fear, cried out over the wailing siren.

“ _Paladins! There’s a hostile force in Arus’ atmosphere, quickly, we need Voltron!_ ”

With as much composure as he could muster in his groggy state, Keith vaulted from the room and made to sprint for the bridge, only to narrowly avoid running right into Shiro as the Black Paladin rounded the corner, already in full armor.

The older man blinked twice in recognition before guiding Keith by the elbow in the direction of the bridge. “This way.”

“I _know_ – ” he complained to deaf ears, following after Shiro hurriedly, his pulse already racing.

They were the first to make it to the bridge, it seemed, save Allura and Coran. The Princess was also fully dressed, her blue accented-armor a complement to the light blue design of the control room. Coran was wailing into the microphone about something strangling him and for the rest to hurry.

Keith’s eye twitched.

“This was a test?” he asked, claws digging half-moons into his palms.

Neither Altean answered, though Allura looked increasingly displeased as the siren continued to howl. Hunk and Pidge scrambled into the bridge after another minute, and Keith felt at least a little relieved that he wasn’t the only one who had not bothered to change from their pajamas.

He heard Pidge curse under her breath when she had the same realization he’d had – there was no actual emergency. “Oh, _fuck_ this.”

After another painstaking thirty seconds, Prince Lance was the last to arrive at the bridge.

He wore a light sleep-set, the colors matching that of his day clothes – mostly white, with a pale yellow accent along the hems and some sort of geometric, Altean design stitched over the torso. His long, ashen hair was irrefutably messy, and Keith carded his fingers through his own bed head self-consciously. His hair wasn’t as long as the Prince’s and it was habitually unkempt so he could tell it wasn’t in too severe a state of disarray, whereas this… rumpled, sleepy version of the Altean was – was really frustrating, actually. How can he even make _it’s-too-early-for-this-shit_ look adorable?

Lance blinked several times, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he pushed past everyone else and stepped to the controls, silencing the alarms with a few quick keystrokes. Relieved, Keith felt some of the tension spill out of his pent up instincts, his ears no longer trying to block out the painful cries of the castle defense system.

“Nice of you to join us, little brother.” The Princess said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “You should have been up by now – at least they’ve got the excuse of being new, though it would have cost us our lives.”

He gave no indication of having heard her, instead continuing to move something around the surface of the panel in front of him. Awkwardly, the room watched as Lance finished whatever he was doing, Allura practically fuming.

“I knew it wasn’t a real attack. Overseer, quintessence, connection to the castle, blah, blah, blah. I can tell when you’re using it. Don’t do that again, please.”

“Well, you could have at least acted like it was a real attack! Drills are important.”

“And so is rest.” Lance’s retort was surprisingly sharp. “Sleep has been avoiding me since we left Altea, and unlike you, I can’t turn to my Lion for comfort when I can’t sleep. So I’ll ask you one more time: _please don’t do that again._ ”

The older sibling wilted visibly. “I… I didn’t mean, didn’t realize – I’m sorry.”

Coran jumped in, ever helpful, squeezing Princess Allura’s shoulders. “Your sister _is_ right, your Highness. Best start early if we’re to get off Arus by the end of this movement; you’ve still got a lot to learn about the ship.”

“I know, I know – it’s fine.” Lance sighed, looking from the Alteans to the other paladins. His exhaustion was evident, judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes, but when his gaze fell to Keith and the others, it turned distinctly fond.

“Well, if we’re up, we’re up. Let’s get started.” He paused, giving Shiro a pointed once-over before snorting and marching into the hallway. “You get an award for being most ready.”

The Princess crossed her arms, hurrying after him. “But I – ”

“Don’t count,” Lance finished for her, swinging an arm over her shoulders, laughing when she nudged his ribs.

The rest of the paladins filed out behind them as they headed towards the dining area, and Keith found himself chuckling softly as they bickered, stealing a glimpse at Shiro who very much got on his own nerves in a very sibling-like way. The Black Paladin met his gaze with an understanding grin, and they began their day with a schedule prepared by Coran: eat, training, eat, training, eat, recreation, sleep. It was a reasonable, if not a little vague, schedule, so Keith set his jaw and focused on whatever it was these bizarre Alteans had in store for them.

 

* * *

 

“No, Hunk, you are definitely the leg.” Pidge grumbled into the comms.

“Are you _sure_ about that? I swear, I thought I was the head.”

With the tone of a parent who’d heard one question too many from a child, the Princess cut in. “I recall you yelling into my ear ‘ _I’m a leg!_ ’. My brother even complimented you for your… _aptitude_ for… _legginess_.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” the Yellow Paladin conceded, switching their orientation so he was beneath Pidge’s lion. “But next time, I call head.”

“It doesn’t _work_ like that. Shiro’s the head, and that’s it,” Keith ground out, exasperated. They’d been at this for almost two fucking _hours_ and they still hadn’t made any headway (no pun intended). “Pidge and I are the arms. The Princess and you are the legs. It’s not that complicated.”

Shiro’s voice came over the channel in the form of a warning. “Hey, hey, let’s not take out our frustrations on each other, okay? That’s sort of the point… we need to be in _sync_ for this to work.”

He paused, and the subsequent silence was more than a little awkward, burdened by the mutual annoyance with their inability to do what had seemed so natural the day prior. What were they doing wrong? And how long would Coran make them do this – what if they _couldn’t_ do it again? It was borderline humiliating, in Keith’s opinion; they were stacked on top of one another in a glorified, space-robot-catman-cheerleader-pyramid right now.

It was a small mercy that no one was around to witness their embarrassing display, at least.

“Hi, Team Voltron!” Prince Lance’s beaming smile appeared on the monitor to Keith’s left, his expression radiant and unassuming.

_Well, fuck._

Christ, the Prince was so _bright_ , it was like looking at the sun, and the hybrid felt his face burn _strictly_ from the chagrin. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the Altean’s soul-crushingly beautiful blue eyes were now near enough that Keith could definitely, even gladly, drown in the vastness of their oceanic depths.

N-Nope. Nothing to do with that. He was just surprised, and that was all.

“Brother!” Princess Allura’s response was just as bright. “How are things going with Coran at the castle?”

He waved a dismissive hand, turning his attention to the faces of each paladin in his own monitor. Now with an open visual channel, the whole of Voltron looked at one another and at the Prince, who seemed thoughtful. “All good here; I’ve relieved Coran here for a few dobosh so he can fix you all lunch, but I am fine. It doesn’t look like the same could be said of you all, though. Why haven’t you formed Voltron?”

“Well, it’s not like a function we can just solve, or a switch we can flip on or off,” groused the Green Paladin, scowling at her monitor and, by consequence, her team. “We’ve tried flying in formation, stacking, running… nothing is working.”

Shiro reiterated, pointing towards specific issues. “It’s that energy we had – like, a _spirit_ that pushed us last time. I felt like we _had_ to form Voltron, and it just sort of… happened. I’m not sure if we can do it by will.”

“Oh.” Prince Lance wrinkled his nose, considering for a moment. His sister intervened before he had the chance to speak his thoughts.

“We can and we will,” she demanded, no trace of doubt in her shocking blue gaze. “The former paladins could do it on command, at any time when they needed it. We just have to work together, try to think like a single unit, not a team.”

“Yeah, but,” Hunk interjected, mournful and nervous. “I like you guys and all but I don’t really know anyone that well besides Pidge and sort-of Keith? It’s sort of hard to imagine our minds all mixed together.”

“Maybe we need some kind of catalyst?” The Red Paladin suggested, gaze  at the controls. “Yesterday, we managed to do it because we thought we were going to die, right? Like we didn’t have any other choice. Maybe we need something like that – a goal? Maybe?”

Prince Lance’s focused scowl split instead into a wicked grin. “Fuzzy, you’ve given me an idea. Let’s see here…”

“I don’t like this,” Hunk squeaked. “What is he doing?”

The Princess tilted her head to the side. “I don’t – _Pidge! Look out!”_

The warning hadn’t come fast enough for the Green Paladin to dodge the sudden blast from the castle, but thankfully it had only managed to hit the shield on the Lion’s back.

“There we go!” Lance clapped his hands together before fixing his ponytail in the display like it was a mirror. “I needed to test the castle defenses anyway. We have auto-targeting so that should give you something to work with. Don’t die!”

“Wait, Lance – _that’s not –_ ” Shiro began, but the line cut out before he had the chance to finish.

Keith wanted to be annoyed, but there wasn’t really the opportunity as a barrage of concentrated energy began to rain down from the castle, erupting from the hexagonal pattern of the particle barrier.

The Black Paladin huffed as he too dodged a projectile. “Ugh. Okay, focus on evasion for now, try to get around me and we’ll… I don’t know… figure it out!”

The remaining Paladins gave grunts or brief words of acknowledgment.

They didn’t figure it out.

Keith thanked some humourless god that Coran came back and turned it off after almost a half-hour.

 

* * *

 

After a fiasco involving what Allura and Lance assured was a “ _nutritious paladin lunch_ ” of multicolored goo, Coran’s feelings being inadvertently hurt, and Pidge sharing the stash of peanut butter cookies she’d had on her person when they’d fled Earth, they resumed training straightaway.

Considering their fantastic failure in forming Voltron earlier, the Prince suggested perhaps they try to focus on teamwork outside of the context of their Lions – Coran was happy to oblige, marching them to the training room immediately after lunch.

This, Keith felt, was much more his style. Not that he had any problem flying the Red Lion – quite the opposite, they were unmatched even amongst the others in their precision and speed – but that the chance to exert himself to physical challenges felt familiar, _obtainable_. Right now, the vague greatness of _forming Voltron_ had him and the others a little… discouraged.

A weapon in his hands was a different story entirely.

And truth be told, he rather liked his bayard. A sword was satisfying, more labor intensive than a blaster like Hunk’s, but more controlled than a whip like Allura’s. He could deal the most damage in close combat out all of them, and it was interesting to see the others grow more comfortable with their weapons, sans Shiro, who could not get his to activate. (Not that Shiro _needed_ it. He could kick all of their asses without it, and his prosthetic revealed itself to have some deadly capabilities.)

When it wasn’t his turn to try to spar, to take against the Gladiator, or tentatively guide or be guided through the invisible maze, Keith took the opportunity to become more familiar with the capabilities of his suit. They had jetpacks, thrusters on the feet for traversing zero gravity, a whole menu of settings at the wristband that he didn’t really know what to do with, but he was learning. The air-tight seal would provide them oxygen in sea or space for about six hours, assuming the oxygen capsules were charged.

It was during this small self-inspection that Keith heard a pair of footfalls grow nearer – not that he couldn’t always hear people moving with his enhanced senses – but this was a specific gait he’d begun to recognize. Keith could pick out Shiro’s easily, for instance, as the man had sharp footfalls and flat feet; Pidge’s were usually heavy and she tended to drag her heels.

This one made his skin prickle, his ears twitching – _stop that!_ – as the hurried, sure steps passed the door outside.

_“Lingering impressions of dimensional travel... for Oriande’s sake … stupid teludav reflectors… why would that even… ugh...”_

Keith frowned at the flat, white metal wall, the Prince’s steps coming to a stop on the other side of the door.

“Coran, I’m going to need your – oh, hello,” Prince Lance greeted with no small amount of warmth. He stepped up besides Keith in the observation deck after giving the room a quick sweep with his eyes, his body half-turned towards the hybrid in favor of actually watching the training underway. Keith caught a glimmer of his pale, frost-toned tresses out of the corner of his eye, and he had to consciously suppress the really, _really_ unwelcome tension that began to coil in his stomach.

_Say something, don’t just stare at him._

“Um, hi.”

_Niiiice._

If the Altean picked up on anything socially defunct in Keith’s hesitation, he was at least polite enough not to say anything. “Sorry, I thought Coran would be up here observing.”

Keith shrugged. “He said he had to do something for your sister and that he’d be right back.”

“Ah, got it. Thanks.” Prince Lance crossed his arms, lips pursed as his gaze  shifted to Keith’s bayard, held absently his right hand. “By the way, I caught some of your training from up here earlier… you’re not half-bad with a sword. Makes sense for the Red Paladin, I suppose.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. I did martial arts on Earth, so I’m not… I’m pretty good at close combat. Coran said the bayard changes to suit the paladin, right?”

The Prince nodded, but his expression suggested he was deep in thought.

“So… did you… need something?” Keith asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the silence grew awkward.

“What?” Lance blinked a few times, blue eyes focusing on Keith’s face. A small flush of color colored the Altean’s cheeks, and his eye scales shimmered in soft blue light. He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, lips quirked up in a bashful grin.

“Oh, no, no, sorry. I was just thinking about my father. We mentioned he was the Red Paladin before you?” By the time Keith nodded, Lance’s slight embarrassment had faded, along with the sincerity in his smile. His gaze became soft, but distant, as he looked out over the training deck from the second floor observation room. Below, Shiro and Allura were sparring, testing the limitations of her weapon and Shiro’s own prowess in combat.

“Father wielded a sword as well, I was just… sorry, I hope that’s not weird to say.  His was a broadsword, different than yours anyway… Ah, you know, maybe let’s not talk about my dead dad, yeah? I just wanted to let you know it was impressive, especially considering what you’ve all told me of your Earth. You and your brother are both rather skilled compared to Hunk and Pidge, and even my sister. She’s not _bad_ , but she wasn’t raised for… _this_.”

Seeing that Lance was, for once, not a breeze of confidence, actually helped Keith to relax a bit himself. It was sort of refreshing to know he wasn’t the only one out of his depth here, and it was hard to stay tense when the Altean was so unassumingly open with his thoughts and feelings; his heart was worn not on his sleeve, but through the lightness of his eyes or the shape of his smile.

“Thanks. Shiro’s not my brother, though.”

“Oh, really? Quiznak,” Lance huffed, placing a hand at his hip in annoyance. “I thought you said – yesterday – my memory is _not_ great. Plus I’ve been, like, separating my consciousness and spiritual essence repeatedly from the core of the ship’s energy on and off all day. No big deal.”

Unable to help himself, Keith laughed at that. “No, no, I _did_ say we were _like_ brothers. He kind of took me in when I was still pretty young. I, er, don’t have any parents. I’ve never met my Mom, and my Dad is, ah, _dead_. And, shit, we’re back to the topic of dead parents again - uh - sorry.”

Lance bit his bottom lip in response, looking like he wanted to laugh but thought better of it. Instead, he said, “No, it’s alright. I didn’t know that about you, and ah… well, maybe I’m sort of messed up for, like, thinking this, but it’s sort of… _nice_ to know? You’ve been without parents for a while it sounds like… and you’re doing something amazing, putting your life on the line to protect all of life as we know it. I guess it feels…” his gaze fell to his hands, expression turning to a sad smile. “We don’t have a great word for it – _kinless_ is the closest, I think – but it’s nice to know that even if we are all alone, together, we’re not actually quite so alone.”

They shared a momentary silence, when Lance’s grin returned anew, almost wicked. “Plus, there’s no need to apologize, you _are_ pretty cute when you’re flustered. Your ears do this thing… yes! That!”

“H-Hey!” Keith reached his hands up to stop his stupid bodily reactions – surely there must be a way to control that? – and felt himself grow warm as the Altean laughed at him. Prince Lance ended up bending over at the waist with the force of his laughter, the sound light and melodic and far too loud for Keith’s sensitive hearing, but it was sort of nice, too. It was incredibly present, full of life like twinkling bells, and Keith felt himself joining in despite himself.

They released sighs as the quiet resumed, less awkward than before but still decidedly unsure. Lance was easier to talk to than Keith would have otherwise expected, but there was still a lot of untraversed ground between them.  Keith had a million questions of his own that he wanted to ask the Alteans, at least a few hundred-thousand of those being more about Galra then Alteans at all, but it was hard to judge his place in all of this. What was appropriate to ask, what was too sensitive a subject?

Those questions, he supposed, could come later; he rather wanted to the enjoy the moment while it lasted.

“You sure know how to ruin a nice moment, ass,” Keith teased.

“Ah, now _that’s_ a curse word we have.” Lance ignored his complaint with a cheeky grin. “I like you, Fuzzy. We might make a paladin of you yet. Tell me more about your Earth. I’m interested.”

In spite of the dryness of his throat and the slight flutter of nerves, Keith’s voice was leaps-and-bounds more confident than he felt. “Only if you tell me about Altea in exchange.”

Prince Lance raised a brow, his lips quirking up into a tempestuous grin. “Oh? And what do you want to know?”

_Shit I did not think this far ahead, uh, fuck, play it cool, Keith._

“Surprise me.” Keith hummed, completely feigning having any fucking idea what to say next, but there was something challenging in the Prince’s smirk that wouldn’t let him back down. It was hard for Keith to tell if his own stubbornness was derived from annoyance at that cheeky smirk, or his own frustrated determination to ignore the fact that he found it inconveniently attractive.

The latter thought scarcely occurred to him before Keith realized with at start that, _shit_ , there were standing _awfully_ close to each other, weren’t they? When did that – how did that happen? Was it some weird alien magic?

 _No,_ the part of his mind that conveniently dealt with hormones pointed. _You know exactly why._

And then, in an act of mutiny, that same part of his mind decided to take control of his gaze, fixating upon the gentle bow of the Altean’s lips, or the flattering shape of his narrow hips, or the warm tone of his tanned skin, the bit of his column of throat that was exposed above his high-necked cape –

 _God, get a grip. He’s just_ one _pretty person, who you don’t know at all._

“ _Brother!_ ” The voice cut into the odd tension like a mortar, and Keith almost leapt backwards. The Prince flinched, but his response was not quite as animated. _“_ What in the name of _Oriande_ do you think you’re doing?!” Allura called from the training deck below, her voice muffled by the glass. “You’re not supposed to be here, you’re supposed to be – ”

“ _Yeah, yeah,_ ” Lance jammed his pointer finger on the microphone so he could be heard without raising his voice. “Doing important junk around the castle I _know_. I was actually looking for Coran, thank you very much, but you had him indisposed.”

The older of the siblings looked cross, but waved a hand in a dismissive motion that suggested he go away rather than incite a proper shouting match.

Lance leaned away from the audio channel and muttered under his breath. “I do love her, but sometimes I want to throw her out of the airlock.”

“That’s… pretty violent.” Keith replied, distracted as he was by his still by the whiplash of their abruptly stunted conversation.

Lance sighed as he turned away, tossing a slight wave and a few parting words over his shoulder as he strolled out into the hallway. “Perhaps, but I suppose it’s also my cue. Good luck with your training. If you see Coran, send him my way – I’m going to be down to the control room for the teludav.”

“Um. Sure.” Keith’s borrowed confidence evaporated in a puff of smoke, his heart hammering against his rib cage from their interaction just as the Prince shot him a final smile while the door closed. “See you.”

It was so jarring to go from – from whatever _that_ was – to regular conversation so suddenly that Keith could not help but fixate on his own thundering heartbeat for a few moments.

What the _fuck_ was that?

In his periphery, Keith noticed Shiro wave him down, presumably to join them on the deck, so shook his head of his errant thoughts and committed himself to remaining focused. He would just have to begrudgingly accept the fact that the Prince was… _nice looking..._ and that was that. If he couldn’t maintain eye contact without thinking about how captivating his smile was, or how soft his complexion appeared, being on the same team was going to be nigh impossible. He needed to get his hormones in check or something; if Hunk, who Keith was pretty sure was attracted to women, didn’t seem affected by the Altean Princess’s unfairly pretty features then, _whatever_ , Keith could definitely ignore the warmth of his own body, the tension in his chest, the nervousness of his instincts whenever the Prince entered a room.

It wasn’t until he turned at the end of the passage that Keith realized that Princess Allura was also in the hallway, and his extrasensory hearing picked up on a stolen piece of conversation that he was almost certain was not intended for him to hear.

“ _I’ve taken them from the Blue Lion, but do you think this is really a – ?”_ Coran whispered, an edge of disapproval in his tone.

The Princess sounded sure of herself. _“Yes, I know Lance, he won’t be happy about it; he might even blame himself and that’s – ”_

At that point, Keith decided it would be best to cough to announce his presence, not really wanting to get involved in whatever duplicitous going-on’s were happening right now. Both Alteans flinched at the sight of him.

“O-Oh, hello, Keith! Are you ready for the next exercise? I hope my brother wasn’t bothering you.”

Keith pretended not to have heard her earlier confession. “No, not at all, he was actually looking for Coran.” His gaze shifted to the older Altean, whose brow was pinched but met his gaze. “He said to meet him in the… control room for something… a teludove?”

“Ah. Close. Teludav,” Coran corrected with an appreciative nod. “Much obliged, Number 2! Let me get you all set up for the next training session and I’ll be off. Go on, now.”

The Princess forced a smile and a laugh as Keith approached and they entered the training room together, though he did not bother fixing the doubtful look on his own face.

“Alright, paladins, you’ve all done some great work today,” Coran complimented, bright as ever while Keith and Allura both took seats on the ground between Pidge and Shiro. “But I think we’ve got another hurdle to overcome. You’ve tried to connect through your lions by flying, as a team physically, and now, we’ll try to see if we can’t get you to connect _spiritually_.”

“Oh no,” Pidge muttered, and Keith was rather inclined to agree.

Coran began handing out what looked like, in Keith’s opinion, those paper crowns kids would sometimes get when they ordered fast food at restaurants, but these were made of metal. The fit was awkward over his ears, for sure, and the other paladins seemed almost as uncomfortable to be wearing one.

Hunk shifting his weight, groaning. “How exactly do we do this spiritual bonding stuff? Sit in a circle and sing _kumbaya_?”

“Sorry, don’t think we’ve got that word in our lexicon either,” the advisor answered with a quick twist of his mustache. “But I’d be very interested to learn more about this _comb-bayou_ later, Number Three! If there’s singing involved, I’m pleased to let you know that _I_ was the head singer of the Altean Court’s Men’s Choir for –”

The Princess, perhaps in a show of mercy, interrupted. “ _Coran.”_

“Ah. Yes, right, later then. Here we go, each of you will use one of these…”

 

* * *

 

Small beams of soft blue backlit the wall panels, providing subtle illumination in the way of silhouettes and shadows, but otherwise, the room was entirely dark. His eyesight had become almost frustratingly sharp with the eventual manifestation of his Galran traits, but it did not come with the advantage of scotopic vision.

Allowing his eyes to slip closed, Keith took in a large breath, holding it and trying to organize his thoughts through the morning haze.

Today would mark the beginning of their third full day on Arus. His third full day as a Paladin of Voltron.

_A Paladin of Voltron._

Defenders of the Universe, huh?

It was almost concerningly easy how comfortable Keith felt with such a title; it was a herculean responsibility, and yet, he felt like it was  — it was _right._ It was the gears of a hoverbike fitting together just so, or the stitches of a knit sweater, intricate and interwoven but the end result was unmistakably whole.  

Waking in a room that wasn’t yet his, but was given to him to make his own, Keith could not help but wonder how it was that, just days ago, he’d been on Earth, listening to radio chatter with Pidge when they’d picked up on the Galran ship in their star system? They managed to rescue Shiro, though he’d been returned one arm short and worse for wear; met and began a tentative friendship with the remaining royals of a near-extinct race, became pilots of highly advance, alien warships with which he could feel some sort of otherworldly connection, a bond forged by mutual respect that threaded with the marrow of his bones, pumped with the blood in his veins, resonated with some foreign frequencies of his soul.

It was an unusual few days, certainly, but Keith did not have any complaints.

Okay, well, the food-goo was pretty bad, but _otherwise_ , things were… _nice_.

Keith didn’t have a _great_ track record in the most social situations… or _any_ social situation… ever… but this was one of the few places that didn’t seem to matter. On Earth, he had to wear a hoodie and all manner of scarf, face mask, even make-up if he wanted to so much as leave his dad’s shack in the desert – when Pidge came out regularly a few months ago, he just stopped leaving altogether. The hassle simply wasn’t worth it.

Now, not only was he not the only alien on the ship, he was, in fact, the dividing line. Coran, Allura, Lance were all otherworldly; Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk were the only humans. Three and a half humans, three and a half aliens – he was the whole that brought them together.

Okay, okay, Keith conceded he might be a little overly sentimental over things, but there had been a time or two he’d smiled privately at dinner or during training over the feeling of acceptance.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **[LANCE** ]

 

The castle was pleasantly soundless in the early hours of the morning, something he’d never appreciated as a child when he walked these halls.

Prince Lance had slept poorly, again.

It was the third morning since the formation of Voltron, and about two varga before the Arusian sun would rise. He traipsed the castle halls that had absorbed his and Allura’s decaphoebs of delight and dismay, had hosted thousands and protected millions more. He rightly suspected everyone else was still asleep, and he definitely did not blame them; he’d very much rather be asleep right now, too. He chased dreams like a child might try to capture a wayward breeze, an impossibility slipping through his grip that he’d somehow fooled himself into thinking possible.

He wasn’t sleeping so little that it was outwardly affecting him. Well, at least, Lance _hoped_ it wasn’t – there were a bruised darkness beneath his eyes, but otherwise, he thought he was holding himself together fairly well. His hair was still lustrous and his skin dewy, because like ruggle would Lance let his beauty routine suffer at the expense of his own latent grief and guilt.

He was averaging about four varga of sleep a night, so, you know, _enough_.

It only took so long before the lavender, electric tendrils of corrupted quintessence would grope their way out of the darkened corners of his imagination like claws, tearing apart his family or his newly-formed, tentative Earth “friends,” ending all too-often in a sheen of sweat on the Prince’s forehead as he shot forward in bed, the burned image of blood splattered behind his eyes.

It was around that time that he would drag himself up to shower, scrub the nightmare from his skin with the hot water, try to refocus himself on the tasks at hand. There was a ship to pilot, and paladins to train, and planets to save, and wounds to heal. He really could not be made to linger on his fears right now.

So he retreated to the mornings as his short sanctuaries, let the worries and fears and regrets and excitement wash over him in waves. He used the time to try to expend his unproductive emotions in favor of the ones he would need to be an asset to his team.

Today, the feelings came and went as he sat in the center of the hologram room.

Or, well, more accurately, it came as he sat in the center of the Altean Royal Garden, in the midst of his projected memories.

Prince Lance knew that his focus needed to be on the future, but he felt like he was lagging behind. As the heart of Voltron, that was not an option; how does the body move on without the heart? There were greater stakes here than just his own personal hardships, but quiznak, if it wasn’t hard.

Was it healthy? Probably not.

Did it help? Honestly, not really.

Even so, he could pretend for a little while longer. Here, Lance could sit down in the fields and feel the warmth of sunshine on his skin, close his eyes and imagine the wind pulling with it a curated collection of children’s laughter and the hum of ships or quintessence moving, flowing, in and around their peaceful planet.

Now he sat alone against the cold metal floor of the hologram room, the edges of his senses prickling with the knowledge of the falsehood. Simulations could only achieve so much, and they could not replicate the warm sweetness that was Altea’s air, like honeyed tea on his tongue, or the subtle moisture of morning dew that would stick to his sleepwear if he'd truly sat down in the fields.

Lance hadn’t even shared this room with his Sister, a place that had been strictly off-limits for them for so long he’d scarcely remembered it existed at all – she would love it here, wouldn’t she?

Maybe that’s why he kept it from her. She might love it _too_ much, and she would end up drawn to it and would waste away her time better-spent here.

Or maybe, Lance admitted, a darker part of him was just that selfish. This was _his_. He wanted to come here and be resentful and guilty and let himself _feel_ instead of _moving on_ , and if Allura were to come to this sanctum of their loss and _wasn’t_ affected by it in the same way he was? If she smiled and thanked him and walked away? Lance didn’t know if he could deal with seeing her move on while he was so stuck without internalizing it as failure.

Sighing, Lance plucked a juniberry flower, twirled the stem in his fingers while the warm pink petals fluttered in his fake breeze.

Lance knew Allura was hurting, too. He did his best to keep clear of making her the objection of his frustrations. He’d gotten upset with her once or twice, but he’d managed to keep most of his misguided resentment in check; Lance did not _want_ to be upset with her. She did not chose this fate as much as he did not know how to accept his part in it.

The pettiness weighed heavily on him, his perfunctory emotions that told him to gnash his teeth and let the bitterness fester, with the whispered promise that, _no, don’t worry_ , that’ll fade.

He wanted to be better than that. For quiznak’s sake, Lance _was_ better than that.

He was not born to be a leader, and Allura was not born to be just a pillar of support. They were meant for opposite fates, but he could not wash his hands of this, could not unthread their providence and go back. There are no “end simulation” he could call out when the fighting was too strenuous. In war, there was no goodbye that was impermanent because any breath, _every_ breath, could very well be their last.

He did not get to say goodbye to Mother at all. Mother, and Blaytz, and Trigel, and Gyrgan. There was not enough time or chances for Lance to be upset with his sister, because who could know when might be their last time together? The only destiny they had left was to survive.

_And yet._

Lance was also only seventeen-decaphoebs old.

Was it wrong that he wanted to be angry? To punch the ruggle out of the gladiator until the gears bent out of shape and the anatomy of it was unrecognizable, reduced to sputtering wires and a twisted hunk of metal? To stay holed up for a few extra varga and have time to himself, to maybe force himself to get over this?

There just wasn’t enough _time_ for such things… which is how, to come full circle, the Prince began to haunt the castle halls before dawn. It wasn’t the best time, but it was _a_ time to be alone with his thoughts, so he took the opportunity to wander and try to come to some sort of place of acceptance. It’s how he’d stumbled upon rooms he’d since forgotten or hadn’t access to as a child, the quintessence flowing beneath and throw his skin and the walls of the ship like a steady pulse of the rumbling waves of the sea.

He wanted to see his Mother, and joke about his Father’s silly pointed beard. To attend – or skip out on – lessons on heavenly bodies and anthropology and alchemy. He had once found them all little else but troubles, but now, he missed them. He missed home. These newfound responsibilities were messy, and he could feel the vice in his chest tighten every time he passed one of the paladins in the hallway, or even if he tried for conversation with Hunk or Keith. They weren’t his responsibility, but he could never be absolved of guilt if they died. They were Voltron’s body, and he was their spirit; they had agency over their own fates, but Lance would constantly have to wait and wonder if he’d done enough to help prepare them.

The Prince got up and left the room after an indeterminate amount of time – enough that his heart had ruptured a tiny bit more, and for the cracks to start to mend themselves over again.

He felt a bit pathetic, if he were being blunt about it, to have to come here every morning just to pick himself back up enough to make it through another day of knowing he wouldn’t really be coming back ever again, but in a weird way, it helped, too. It was letting go slowly instead of sharply, and maybe that was worse, but it was how Lance needed to say his goodbyes.

About twenty paces down the hall, he turned right in the main atrium to make for the bridge. If Coran was not yet awake, he would surely be any time now, and Lance was determined to get off this planet as soon as –

Lance winced in place, head snapping up at the sound of the castle alarm. He’d not even made it up the center stairwell when the wailing siren had gone off, and his consciousness was definitively aware that this was not another of his Sister’s drills. It was coming from the front of the castle – someone was trying to breach the particle barrier?

Without hesitation, the Prince spun on his heel and ran like a Swathian Meerakeet that just saw sunlight for the first time. (In hindsight, he really should have waited or gone and grabbed a weapon, but his instincts urged him on with reckless abandon and something not unlike curiosity.)

The sun had since come up on Arus, though only just, and the morning was still fresh and crisp as he stepped through the grand double doors that opened to the land bridge tethering the castle to Arus’s mainland. He held a hand over his eyes to shade his gaze from some of the brightness, stepping forward tentatively.

“Hello? Is there someone here?”

A gasp and a shuddering, albeit small, sound of wood and metal over stone followed his careful prowl forward, the source obscured by a large stone edifice that had been carved into the bridge.

“It is – I can’t believe it! The Prince of Altea!” A shrill voice cried, and Lance stepped close enough to the carving to peer over the side. His eyes fell wide upon the the diminutive form of an Arusian, the first he’d actually seen since they landed the castle ship here almost two movements ago. His red horns and orange markings were complimented by flaxen yellow skin and a green collar along with worn leather straps and holstered weapons.

“Oh, hello,” the Prince spoke with a smile. At his feet, a small spear-like weapon had been abandoned. He bent at the waist to be nearer to eye-level with the native.

“I wasn’t expecting to find anyone so near the castle — sorry, did I frighten you?”

The Arusian shook their head back and forth with an almost violent motion. “No! No, no no! A-apologies are mine, oh great one! I shame my people to have raised a weapon against you!”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Lance barely managed to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble up at the little one’s display of deference. It was rare that he was permitted to interact with anyone completely alone without escort or fanfare or pretense. The Arusian was a bit adorable and their complete and utter chagrin to have nearly attacked him was oddly flattering.

“Worry not, you have done nothing to offend me. Please, rise. What is your name?”

“Thank you, your Highness. I am the Bravest Warrior of my village, Klaizap, and I had come to –”

The remainder of the explanation was lost when another voice interrupted, this one colored by concern and confusion. “Lance?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up, an involuntary smile spreading on his face when he spotted the Red Paladin on high-alert, ears straight up and eyes narrowed, his bayard raised at the potential threat. “Oh, it’s you.”

Keith lowered his weapon, lips pursed. He sounded exasperated, if not a little amused. “Gee, thanks, don’t sound too excited, your Highne—”

The words hadn’t even fully passed through his lips when there was an audible _hiss_ at the Prince’s feet, and both young men turned at the sound. Klaizap had taken up his spear once again, a spirited, though admittedly harmless, war cry spilling from his lips.

“ _Die, Monster! Do not speak to the Young Prince!”_

To say Keith blocked the attack would have been… generous. His shield was still raised from his earlier hesitation, so he just slightly lifted his arm to cover his face along with the rest of his right side and winced when the small creature’s entire body _thwapped_ into the particle barrier.

“Oh no, no, he’s a friend — stop, stop,” Lance reached down and scooped up the diminutive attacker, and Keith raised a questioning brow.

“Friend of your’s?”

The Prince adopted a grim smile. “Not exactly. Bravest Warrior, _stand down._ This man is not your enemy. He is only half-Galra anyways — look, he’s much too short to hail from Daibaazal.”

“H-Hey! I’m taller than you!” Keith’s cheeks colored a warm plum tone that Lance couldn't help but find a little flattering. This time, the Prince didn’t hold back his urge to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand while the paladin’s expression turned adorably grumpy.

He adjusted Klaizap’s weight so he could hold the Arusian over his chest like a child might hold a stuffed animal. Klaizap craned his neck to look back at him, continually shooting distrustful glances in Keith’s direction.

“I mean no disrespect, oh Great One, but are you certain he can be trusted? He matches the legends foretold by our divinations! The stars do not lie! That a hybrid of his kind would – ”

Sighing, the Altean’s brow pinched in the center in a look that reminded him of an apology. “There are thousands upon thousands of Galran hybrids out there, Bravest Warrior. Even their Prince is a hybrid – he’s half-Altean! Do not let this one’s complexion scare you. He’s actually rather... _fuzzy_.”

The word was said with a ghost of a smile, and the reassurance seemed to assuage the warrior’s doubts. Now calm, Lance returned him to his own two feet before his little legs bowed in apology.

“Forgive me for my transgressions, Fuzzy One! Any ally of Alfor’s children are welcome on Arus.”

“My name isn’t – ” Keith sighed, deactivating his bayard and rubbing at the corners of his eyes. “It’s fine. My name is Keith, sorry that I – ”

“ _Lance!”_ Another cry of his name interrupted the conversation outside the castle, and this one was sharp enough to make all three of them jump. “Lance, oh, thank _Oriande_ , I was… oh no, _what have you done?!”_

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lance had to resist the urge to stamp his foot. “I haven’t _done_ anything – ”

“ _Lion Goddess!_ ” Klaizap proclaimed with surprising vigor, prostrating himself on the ground before her. “Our seers knew it had to be true! That you did not perish with your Father as the rumors say!”

Moments later, the remaining paladins jogged out onto the stone bridge, all wearing mixed expressions of confusion and relief. Hunk gasped for breath, holding his knees to support himself, Pidge looked to Keith with unspoken questions, and Shiro stepped up beside the Princess in some sort of joint-diplomatic front.

The Arusian continued to sing all manner of praise to his sister. “I have been sent to assure you are safe, so that the universe may not live in fear. There is great fear that your planet has been destroyed, and that you and the mighty Voltron along with it! Our people will rejoice in the knowledge that the Lion Goddess lives on!”

By the end of the declaration, Klaizap sounded like he was openly weeping, and the Prince tried to catch Allura’s eye. She looked equally confused.

Interrupting gently, the Princess lowered her posture. “What do you mean, _Lion Goddess_?”

“The hope of the future! The spirit of Voltron! You are the goddess of the Voltron Lions, foretold by my village elder’s generations ago!”

“Er,” Allura’s face was beginning to pink, and Lance tried not to react at all. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am no goddess. The life force of Voltron does not turn any mortal into a god, and even so…”

Lance shrugged when her gaze found his. Was this mischaracterization a bit annoying? Sure. Did he expect it? Absolutely.

“It is my brother, the Prince who would be the one your Elders foretold. He is the one who will carry on the hope of the universe in _his_ spirit, not mine.”

Klaizap raised his head from the ground, where he’d been praying to her for mercy and strength and who knows what else, and looked around confusedly.

“But the Prince is not… He cannot be the goddess. The fates foretold _you_ to be the one…”

Under his breath, Lance muttered to himself, “ _tell me about it_.”

“...to bring our worlds to peace! There is much that depends upon you, Princess!”

His sister continued to coach the Brave Warrior on the misunderstanding, reeducating them on the reality that neither of them were to be viewed as gods. In that time, Keith had inched a bit closer to Lance, his gaze dark and questioning.

Lance had to wonder what his own expression looked like to warrant the Red Paladin's concern, because his voice was low and sincere.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Genuinely touched, Lance shared his warmest smile with the Red Paladin, who awkwardly smiled in return.

“I'll be okay, Fuzzy. Thanks.”

“Please stop introducing me to people like that,” he hissed, and Lance let out a brief sputter of laughter.

“You like the nickname and you know it!”

“I don’t,” Keith insisted, but Lance could see right through him – he was trying not to smile, which was, in the Prince’s opinion, a rather brilliant victory.

The distraction was nice, if fleeting, when Shiro stepped forward.

“We didn’t even think to... thank you for this information, Klaizap. Team,” the rest of the paladins turned to attention, along with Lance. “We should re-direct our efforts today to recon instead of training. We need to check out that downed Galra ship - there might even be Galra who survived the crash, which could put the Arusians in danger.”

“Wait, what?” Hunk startled, blinking like he’d just suffered from whiplash. “ _Galra_? Where? How?!”

It was Klaizap who answered his query. “Our scouts have spotted them since their craft fell to our planet. There is little that remains of their crashed vessel, but our village would be honored if we could help the Lion Goddess and her followers in their quest. I could show you the way.”

“Again, I’m not a – ” the Princess began, almost anxiously, but Pidge interrupted.

“There’s still scraps of the ship? They looked like they gone down over the water, I didn’t think we could…” She rubbed her chin, thoughtful. “There could be useful intel on there, whether or not we find the actual Galra. I’d really like to get a look at their systems; maybe there’s information on Matt or my Dad in there.”

“We can’t all go,” Shiro reminded. “The prisoners we rescued are supposed to wake up soon. We need to make sure there’s at least a small team here to get them taken care of. I’ll go with you Pidge, and Keith you should probably tag along too, if there could be an ambush, we'd probably need the extra support, so…”

“Oh!” Lance’s heart fluttered in his chest momentarily, hands flexing on their own. “I could go! I can give you cover in case there’s any potential traps – I’m an excellent shot.”

The Black Paladin seemed to consider the thought, but decidedly shook his head. “Actually, Lance, I think the Princess should join us if there’s going to be anything involving these Arusian villagers. They really seem to, er, admire her – it may be best for her to be there. Plus, you’re the one running the castle; I don’t know if the prisoner’s will need help once they’re extracted from the cryo-pods.”

“Ah.” He blinked, hands unclenching, stomach knotting in its place. “R-Right, of course. That makes sense.”

An awkward pause followed, at which Lance felt his face burn. _Don’t be mad at them. This isn’t their fault. It’s not their fault._

When he raised his head a tick later, his smile had returned, pained but sincere. “Be careful, paladins. Hunk and Coran and I will take care of things here.”

The Princess caught his wrist when he tried to walk away, and Lance grit his teeth. “Brother, it’s not because we – ”

“I _know_ ,” he replied, still facing the castle. He was proud that his voice did not waver. “It’s not because you don’t want me there or don’t think I could be helpful. But I can be _more_ helpful here.”

Her grip slackened, so he let his wrist fall back in place before turning around. “ _Really_ , Sister. It’s okay.”

Though she looked doubtful, Klaizap tugged her ankle. “Goddess, shall we go?”

“Um, yes. Let’s go, then.” She told the Arusian, awkwardly patting the place between the curvature of his horns. “We’ll be back soon.”

He and Shiro shared another mutually respectful nod, which Lance would admit made his sternum swell slightly in pride, and watched his sister retreat with the Arusian guiding her, animatedly explaining something he could not hear. Keith and Pidge walked on their far side, both invested in the discussion enough that they didn’t turn around as Hunk and Lance watched them go.

“Well, buddy, guess it’s us,” the Yellow Paladin said gently, resting a large hand on Lance’s shoulder. It was warm, and the gesture was appreciated.

Lance raised a grin of his own in response, turning back towards the castle. “Guess so.”

 

* * *

 

Out of all of the paladins he would have had to waste time with, Hunk would probably have been the Prince’s first choice. Keith was a close second, because, _what a view_ , but Lance’s own interests could only be entertained for so long until he became self-conscious that Keith might not find his company as enriching as Lance found his – the half-Galra was frustratingly difficult to read. Was he amused, angry, interested, bored? It was hard to tell.

Hunk was the opposite, and indeed, perhaps the most like Lance of all of them. He was whip-smart, adaptable, and his emotions were both complex and unfiltered. They were in the bridge with Coran, Hunk quizzing him on Altean and, interestingly, Galran culture, while he worked on making determinate calls on the slight field variances of the particle barrier as Coran adjusted different reactors on the ship; it was critical that Lance could detect a disturbance in the defenses by feel alone, as it was often tedious to run diagnostics to try to detect the unstable source – not to mention nigh impossible if they were in the middle of a fire fight. Dilithium levels, an imbalance in the coaxial plasma capacitor, an excess of hydrogen in the blasters – all of it could be the difference between life and death, and Lance was trying to select the sensations like a chef might do when experimenting with their palettes.

And he was, he liked to think, actually doing rather well.

Internally, the pull of his spirit buzzed in subconscious awareness, a dip in the temperature of his muscle cores, reverberating with a sort of tremble that was indicative of a chilly winter morning.

“Dilithium again, too low,” he said off-handedly, and Coran nodded in approval. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“No prob,” Hunk raised a hand, leaning against the back of the Yellow Paladin’s station on the bridge. “I wanted to know more about how this whole conflict started, you know? We’ve had plenty of wars on Earth, and even if they’re half-assed, there’s usually a reason. You weren’t alive at the time?”

“No, Allura and I were both alive when the war officially began. It was Voltron that was made before we were born. Conflict began to break out as soon as five or six years after Voltron was first created, but those were small insurgencies that didn’t seem related. Time has, obviously, led us to different conclusions. Here, let me…”

He focused on the pillars at his hands, willing the star map into existence as a graphic over the bridge. From edge to edge, amongst and between the chairs and the dais and past Coran butting up all the way to the large outfacing windows, the universe appeared, speckled blue and purple and glints of red and white mixed in between. All manner of celestial body, orbiting asteroids, moons and suns and planets, starlight and black holes manifested in the center of the room, and Lance felt himself swell a bit with satisfaction at the awe in Hunk’s face – and even in Coran’s expression, a twinkle of pride could be seen.

“Wow, I love alien tech,” Hunk murmured, blinking a few times.

A smile tugged at the corner of Lance’s mouth, but it was fleeting.

“Thanks, I guess. It’s not alien to _me_ , but, anyway. This is just the known universe, explored and catalogued by Altea or the Voltron Coalition as of about two movements ago. And _this_ ,” he spun his palms slightly, highlighting entire star systems in hard, violet light. “Are the parts of the universe Zarkon has either laid to waste, colonized, or otherwise occupies.”

In a pattern of winds blowing over a plane of grass, like a ripple weeping over the sea of stars, a wicked purple began to spread, grow, and _overwhelm_ the gentle ebb-and-flow of stars and blue lights that crossed to form the holographic, seeping into the universe like poison.

A shaky hand raised to Hunk’s mouth, the awestruck turned horrorstruck in record time. Lance felt a little bad about it, but it was also a humbling reminder of what a few tactical men could accomplish when the force of good turned away, and away, and away.  
Appease, defend, negotiate. Peace and diplomacy before battle, always. And where had that gotten them?

Here. Brining in an ocean of purple lights in a universe supposed to be blue.

“This is… god, they did all of this, and in such a _short time_?”

“The Voltron Coalition did its best, but support weaned in the past few decaphoebs. It’s hard to have a Voltron Coalition with no _Voltron_ ,” he said with a wry smile. “Admittedly, these colonies are mostly independent. They’ve sworn fidelity to the Empire but would likely defect in a heartbeat if they heard of Voltron’s return.”

Another swath, not nearly as many, not nearly as sweeping or grand a display, began to turn to – Lance made a split second decision – yellow, in an ode to the image of his present company.

It wasn’t exactly the subtlest of displays, and Hunk looked at him with an appreciative glean in his eye, though there was a distinctive shine there that also resembled tears.

“We’ll win. We’ll… make things right. Won’t we?”

Dismissing the projection of solar, lunar, planetary, and celestial landscapes, the Prince’s gaze upon the paladin softened, his brow drawn up and together in a moment of patience, of reflection on the magnitude of such a deceivingly simple question.

He considered something Mother told him.

_Not everyone loves the stars like you do, little one. Not everyone wants to watch them light the skies at night. That’s why your Father has to go, why he has to fight. To protect that light._

It was after he and Allura had hugged Father goodbye when he left for just another mission, but there was fear in the air that day. The skies were overcast, the promise of another fire and brimstone storm on the horizon. Lance was about seven. Allura asked why they had to fight, why Father had to leave without saying when he might come back, and what would happen to them if he didn’t.

_But don't you realize, you’re stars, too?_

“Yes, Hunk.” Lance blinked, looking down at his grip over the power nodes. There was a flicker of magnetic drawn down through his bloodstream, trace amounts of metal sinking into the flow of energy. “That’s… what, vetereon flow? No, wait, don’t tell me. Um.”

He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling. It wasn’t the iron in his blood – it was the weight of his bones.

“Is it the antigravity prism… what, _overheating_?”

“Right again, your Highness,” Coran chirped dutifully. “Excellent.”

He shifted his attention back to Hunk, who still looked a bit shaken by the earlier demonstration. “Voltron will win, Hunk. _We_ will win. I know we’re not…” he furrowed his brow, hands tightening their grip over the points connecting him to the Crystal, to the Castle, to the monumental flow of quintessence that was more a river of spiritual energy than it was abstract thought. “I know _I’m_ not a leader like Shiro, and I know my sister and I argue. I know that you all having to turn to three people who had their home vaporized by the enemy probably does not inspire a lot of confidence. I know that our Red Paladin is part of the race that we’re fighting against, that hurt Shiro, that took Pidge’s family from her. I know that we’re not ideal – frankly we’re a bit of a miss – but we’re still stronger, still _better_ than Zarkon could ever be.”

With a mixture of defiance and stubborn promise, Lance raised his head, a smirk fixed to his features. Hunk met his own expression with a brighter smile of his own.

“It’s not even because we have Voltron. Voltron is just the weapon, the extension of what we have. We’re _hope_. And Zarkon – _no one_ – can take that away.”

At that point, the Altean advisor cleared his throat and stepped away from the control panels. Lance had almost forgotten Coran was still present, and he snapped up in surprise. His hands fell to his sides, expecting to take a break but not trusting the gleam in Coran’s eye for a heartbeat.

“What?” the Prince questioned, suspicion apparent.

His mustache twitched as he smiled. “I think you’re ready, Prince Lance. I think we can take off by quintant’s end. Shall we do a run down as if we were really going to launch, go through all the systems, and terminate the lift-off at the last moment? I won’t guide you through any of the steps.”

Smile widening, Lance nodded firmly and gave a bereft command of assent.

“Hunk, you may want to sit, just in case.”

The yellow paladin needed no further instruction, crawling into his chair with seatbelts (yes, that’s plural) all strapped and ready within ticks.

 _Breathe_ , Lance reminded himself. His corporeal body could not forget to keep its end of the bargain when it came to such massive demands of quintessence and mental, spiritual, and physical fortitude.

But he could do this. He had to, for all of those planets who yearned to become blue again, to become _free_ again.


	7. Unapologetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Keith throws a rock, Hunk makes a mess, Shiro remembers, and Lance is sick and tired of everyone apologizing to him.

The crashed ship was not as far as Keith had anticipated, all things considered. He listened to Pidge, mostly, rattle off different systems and parts she specifically wanted to look for while Allura kept the Arusian preoccupied by just, well, _existing_. Shiro made sure to keep his eyes and ears sharp, trained to their surroundings, though Keith wasn’t entirely sure why he bothered; he would notice anything threatening before Shiro ever could with his enhanced senses.

Habit, he supposed.

They proceeded around the outside of Klaizap’s village despite his insistence that the Princess meet their chieftain (“ _Later, perhaps. Let’s deal with the possible danger first._ ”) and walked through a wooded patch that ran across the northern edge of the settlement. It was calm, reminiscent of a forest one might encounter at a park on Earth, with canopies of trees dimming the world beyond. Spots of sunlight filtered in through the small holes in the overhead leaves and vines, lancing through the shaded forest with brilliant green and warm yellow light.

“So did you actually see any of the Galra?” Shiro asked at one point. “Or did your people just see the ship go down?”

The Arusian gripped their spear a little tighter. “We did not see the unwelcome ones with our eyes, but there have been signs of movement from tracks in the surface nearby. For our own safety, our people have tried to stay as far away from the wreck as possible.”

Pidge frowned, crossing her arms. “Could they have taken escape pods when the ship went down? I mean, I don’t remember seeing anything, but we were sort of busy celebrating when it all happened.”

Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, the Princess shook her head, some of her long hair getting caught around the collar of her armor. “I doubt it. Lance or Coran would have caught them at least entering the atmosphere; the castle can detect virtually any projectile that leaves or enters the atmosphere of whichever planet it’s gravity is bound to.”

Keith shaded his eyes with a hand, looking skyward. “Maybe they took a pod but didn’t get high enough into the atmosphere for it to be picked up? Could explain the tracks around, but no sign of the actual Galra.”

“Perhaps,” Allura conceded, though she sounded doubtful. “I don’t know, I just have a bad feeling.”

Before there was an opportunity for someone else to comment further, Klaizap parted a break in the bushes and scurried forward into what appeared to be a clearing. “It is just through here, Goddess!”

Shiro and Keith met eyes, sharing a patient, knowing smirk. The Arusian’s insistence on using that title was a little cute, but annoying, like a child who learned a new song and wouldn’t stop singing it at the top of their lungs; cringeworthy, maybe, but you knew they meant well.

And, to her credit, the Blue Paladin was the perfect image of grace in responding and politely declining the title every time, patient in her repeated explanation as to why such a term was problematic. It was a two-tier problem, because neither Altean sibling wanted to be viewed with such reverence, but it was especially misplaced to use the label in reference to the older sister. She was one of the _legs_ of Voltron, not some grand, spiritual entity. If anything, that enthusiasm have been reserved for her brother, but even then it was doubtful Lance would _want_ it.

With a tight smile, she thanked Klaizap and the four of them followed him out through a particularly thick bushel of foliage that opened to a literal _clearing_ – as in, a giant fucking warship _cleared the hell out of this stretch of forest_.

Reflexively, Keith’s ears perked up, alert, and he caught the Princess’s miniscule gasp, Shiro’s clenched jaw, their Arusian guide’s nervous shifting. Pidge seemed unphased, at least in any way that he could discern, simply taking in the view before them.

And what a sight it was. What had been a massive warship had been reduced to a grisly behemoth of twisted metal, sunken into the base of a shallow crater. The dark steel was covered in dust that had been kicked up from the dirt upon crashing, and any openings into the interior of the ship were patterned by weak purple emergency lights. Keith assessed right away that the ship was not flyable, seeing as whole chunks of the exterior carrier were torn apart, and the better part of the center was melted or otherwise disfigured from its encounter with Voltron and then its’ subsequent plummet through Arus’s atmosphere.

It was weirdly satisfying to see, the thing at least twice as long as a football field and easily as wide as one, to be in such a state of disrepair from _their_ doing. Maybe it was on account that the thing had been trying its damndest to kill them all a few days ago, or maybe it was just sort of amazing to see destruction of that size and scale up close – whatever the case, Pidge seemed the only one to share in Keith’s smug satisfaction, smirking as she began to slowly step forward.

“The thing is so _huge_! At least some of the systems had to have survived. If I could even just get into a the local software, I could start extracting some information at least so we can better understand what sort of firepower we’re going to be up against in the future.”

Allura stepped after Pidge, gently grabbing her by the shoulder. “Hold on, it could be set to trigger a trap. We should…”

Her words trailed off when there was a light, though distinct, electronic _beep_ and they all tensed. From the wreckage, a piece of metal – what was that, a _pyramid_? – no larger than Keith’s fist began to rise up, swiveling on the spot and fixing them with a camera lense.

“Well, it was nice a thought, Princess.” Shiro released a small sigh. “Pidge, think you can hit it with your bayard from here?”

She frowned, pulling her weapon up and inspecting the end of the grappling device like she was weighing her options. “I bet I can, but… let’s try to capture it instead.”

“Capture it? Why?” Keith scoffed, gaze trained to its every move, following even the adjustment of the camera lense or angle with a heavy dose of skepticism. There was somewhere, presumably, that video feed led, and he didn’t like the idea of it getting a nice full view of the five of them.

The green paladin took a hesitant step forward, like she was expecting a bomb to go off, and sighed when her foot met solid ground unharmed.

“Two reasons. One, we at least have confirmation that, at _minimum_ , one thing is still functional from this heap of scrap metal. Two, it could be useful. Like Allura and Lance know a lot about the Galra, but you guys only have Altean technology in the castle, right?”

The Blue Paladin stammered momentarily. “I, uh, well… right. There might be a stray Galra weapon or something that got left in the castle decaphoebs ago, but nothing comes to mind. Even if there was something, it would be a fairly small piece of tech.”

Shiro nodded his head side-to-side, looking around and then at the hovering robot. It was moving side to side, like it was trying to get a good angle on all of them, but it hadn’t done anything overtly hostile or moved towards them.

Sensing an opportunity to make her case, the green paladin continued. “I bet it’s a reconnaissance drone of some kind. Like, how on Earth, if a ship goes down, there’s always a black box to recover. This probably activates after a crash if there’s life detected – ergo, _us_ – and tries to record and send the information of the ship with… something. Headquarters, or something to that effect, you know what I mean?”

“Well, alright,” the older man decided. “If we can get it down and you can be sure it’s not going to be feeding data about us out somewhere, then you’re right. It might be useful to have. The more we know and understand about our enemy, the more prepared we’ll be to fight them.”

Keith shrugged. “Okay… Want me to throw something at it?”

All three of them – wait, Klaizap, too – all _four_ of them turned to look at him.

“W-what?!”

“No, Keith, we don’t want you to throw something at it. We’re literally dealing with some of the most primo technology in the universe here with these suits, right?” Pidge paused, shooting a look at Allura before continuing. “And your best idea is to _throw something at it_?”

“Hey, fuck you,” he huffed, crossing his arms. “What do _you_ suggest we do?”

Shiro, Pidge and Allura all started to speak at once.

“We should try get it down to our level, maybe using the Princess’s whip. Or Pidge’s bayard could disable it.”

“No, no, let’s just go into the ship and see if we can find some sort of controls for it. It’s obviously being powered through _some_ source, and if I can hack it, I can just guide it down to us. Easy.”

“That seems like an awful lot of work just to get a tiny robot – why don’t we just check out the ship’s interior, maybe there are more of them or ones that are offline that we could just retrieve while we search for the data?”

Sighing, Keith lifted an arm and gestured towards the ship. “Fine, whatever. We’ll do it your way, then.”

 

* * *

 

After a successful attempt at a running through a launch sequence, Coran rewarded the Prince with a small break, for which the he was thankful. He asked the Yellow Paladin if he wanted to join him, to stretch their legs, which is how they ended up wandering the castle halls between random catches of conversation. S – s

Lance steered them in the direction of the castle’s main kitchen’s at Hunk’s behest. Those “cookies” Pidge had brought with her were not at all like the food he’d been used to eating, though he’d be lying if he thought they tasted bad. Very… _chewy,_ he recalled, and a little too sweet for his liking. In any event, the humans decidedly did _not_ like the Paladin’s Lunch, nor were they keen on the nutrient rich supplement that their lot had since dubbed as “food goo,” so Hunk had made it his personal mission to make the human’s meals a bit more palatable, and the Prince had no problems obliging his interests. They might as well be comfortable if this was going to be their home for… however long the war continued.

During the length of their walk, the latter rattled off all manner of question, quizzing the Prince on culture, names, places, technology, and, of course, Voltron.

Lance was doing his best to answer all of it honestly, though some subjects did cause him to wrinkle his nose.

“So, if we do end up defeating Zarkon –”

“ _When_ ,” he corrected. If there was one thing Lance would make a promise to the stars upon, it was that. “ _When_ we defeat Zarkon.”

“Right, sorry. So, _when_ we defeat Zarkon, what will happen? On Earth, we’ve had our fair share of wars – granted it never got to ‘blowing up planets’ level of seriousness, er, sorry,” Hunk hastily tacted on an apology, shooting an anxious look in the Altean’s direction.

Lance faltered for only a tick, the words triggering an involuntary sigh; it was borne from exasperation more than grief or remorse.

“Don’t apologize,” he said as the smooth metal door parted to grant them entry to the castle kitchen. Lance followed into the room after Hunk, watching the paladin immediately begin to poke and prod around the various surfaces. “To be honest, I’m pretty tired of everyone flinching at the slightest mention of what happened to Altea. It’s not like I _love_ thinking about it, but it feels worse to treat the subject like it’s something… I don’t know, _bad_ to talk about. Altea was my _home_ , and I want to remember it, not cringe everytime someone says anything about it. And, really, I would rather you and the other paladins not apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”

By the time he finished speaking, Lance had taken a seat at the bar-height stools, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Hunk had stopped his perusal of the kitchen to listen, one hand holding a food nozzle, a thoughtful furrow to his brow.

“I’m sorry, man. My bad. Thanks for letting me know, I’ll keep it in mind for the future. I can’t read minds, and your sister is still a little, ah, touchy on the subject. So… noted!” With a thumbs-up, he went back to experimentally twisting the dial that varied the density and nutrient levels of the goo; Lance watched in mild amusement, wondering if the human had any clue what he was even doing.

Shaking his head in an attempt to focus, the Prince tried to remember where their conversation had left off before.

“Ah, right, to answer your question… I mean, I don't know _exactly_ what will happen after Zarkon is defeated. I guess it will depend on how overwhelming a defeat it is. The Galra have traditionally always chosen a leader by combat – they have a whole ceremony, it’s sort of crude in my opinion – but I think they've explored the option of democratic election, too. Plenty of high ranking Commanders may try to assume the throne by rights, but the Emperor's son probably has a better claim if they go that route.”

“Wait, _what_?!” The Yellow Paladin, in his surprise, cranked the handle of the food nozzle so sharply that a sudden rupture of the gelatinous substance splattered all over the opposite wall and across the floor – it narrowly avoided hitting Prince Lance square in the face in the process.

Wide eyed, the Altean blinked twice before he burst out laughing.

Hunk was unamused, insisting even as he struggled to put the settings of the food dispenser back to the way they were, “Did you just say Zarkon has a _kid!?”_

Propping an elbow on the counter, the Prince observed Hunk’s struggle, admittedly enjoying himself as his chin came to rest in his palm. “Yeah. He has one son. My own mother and father had two children; are such family structures not… common on Earth?”

“No, no, I mean… that’s pretty close to average, I guess. I dunno, it's just _weird_ to think about….  like, killing a Dad and killing a bloodthirsty dictator feels really… different. Anyway, what's this guy like? The… Emperor Jr.? Prince?”

“Yes, he’s a Prince,” Lance verified, considering his next words carefully. “Prince Lotor. And it’s… hard to say, it’s been almost ten decaphoebs since I’ve seen him… but, as I remember, he was _annoying_. _”_

That made Hunk chuckle, and now having righted the nozzle and turned the settings back to normal, he abandoned that half the kitchen and walked over to the counter where the Prince was seated.

“Annoying? Why? Was he the stuck-up prince-type?”

The human began to open cabinets and drawers, pulling out trays and platters and utensils as Lance considered his question. Absentmindedly, he straightened the crown that sat atop his brow.

“Good to know you guys have _that_ type on your planet, too. Sounds like humans aren’t that different than us after all, but, yes. That’s only part of it, though – he’s always had a big ol’ crush on my sister, so it was annoying to hang out as children when he was always trying to make it into little royal dates with her.”

“Ahh,” the paladin nodded. “So he’s the _slick-gonna-get-with-your-sister_ type.”

“That’s… yep. That’s it.”

Humming to himself, Hunk raised a thoughtful brow. “Was there like, any sort of arranged marriage or anything between the kingdoms? Or… planets, I guess? Sorry the terms are all a little wonky, it seems like they don’t mean _quite_ the same thing in our language.”

“That’s alright.” Lance dismissed the apology. “Um, no, at least not that anyone ever told me. Allura liked the attention, I think, but I don’t think at eleven she was super preoccupied with –”

The spirited voice of none other than Coran interrupted him abruptly, a bit shrill as it rang out over the castle communication system.

“Your Highness, it looks like the prisoners are waking up. Could you come to the cryopod bay?”

Lance lifted his head, the hand supporting his chin falling against the counter. “That’s my cue. Wanna join me?”

The human nodded readily and offered the Prince a warm smile. Lance found himself returning the gesture automatically; Hunk’s smiles seemed to have that effect on people.

Not wasting any time, the pair left the kitchen (and the mess of food Hunk had left all over the place) promptly behind them, heading down the hall and to the elevator that would take them to the cryopod chamber.

As expected, Coran was there, waiting for them dutifully. His hands were hovering overtop a panel in the center that monitored the health indicators of any inhabitants in the pods.

“Did you…?” Lance began as he walked up to the center of the half-circle of suspended prisoners, squinting around at the faces of their still sleeping faces.

“Override the automatic release?” Coran queried, a smile in his tone. “Yes, figured you would want to be here to help them get their bearings. You and the Princess weren’t present when Shiro and Pidge brought them in; they were in quite a state.”

Hunk rubbed his arms in a sort of self-hug. “These things are, like, _creepy_. What if you got stuck in one? Is that a thing that can happen?”

“Oh, definitely,” the advisor hummed. “But it’s incredibly stable technology, so there’s no need to be afraid, Number Three. You’d be perfectly safe for however long you’d be in there, but I have been told it can confound your sense of time a bit.”

The Prince scratched his neck, a chill threading between the notches of his spine. “Yeah, you can skip varga, quintant – even whole _movements_ – without even realizing it. Like falling asleep, but like, without the bodily rhythms that keep your temporal sense. It’s not a good feeling, waking up and not even feeling like you’ve been asleep.”

At that, the Yellow Paladin seemed genuinely horrified. “You’ve _been_ in one?”

Prince Lance scoffed, keeping his gaze focused on the pod in front of him. He decided that perhaps Hunk would be better off without the honest answer to that question.

Indeed, the paladins would each have to have been born beneath truly blessed stars if they never end up having to spend time in one of these pods, but then, according to Hunk, they’ve never even _seen_ a war with these kind of stakes, have they? Their human wars stretched only across the surface of their single planet, involved only primitive projectile weapons and the all-too-familiar chemical and nuclear explosives, by the sounds of it.

It was both fascinating and endlessly troubling to think about. Hunk – gentle, quizzical, earnest Hunk – could summon his bayard and murder them all with just the slightest execution of his will, a finger against the trigger of his blaster. Their insides could be liquified in less than five ticks from the superheated energy projectiles, so deadly the human would scarcely even have to aim.

Did he not realize much raw power he had at his disposal? How being the pilot of a super weapon, in effect, made _him_ a weapon, too?

Was it willful ignorance? Or genuine lack of understanding?

And, was it Lance’s place to take that away from him, willful or not? Would it be better for Hunk _not_ to know, for him to _not_ realize how intimately he was now tied to all of this carnage? At least for a little longer?

In all honesty, Lance did not know.

Too easily could he call up memories, a dozen still frames from battlefields lining the walls of strategic operations chamber, sitting beside Father during their war delegation meetings, listening as their Commanders exchanged information and reports. His own seventeen decaphoeb-old opinions didn’t lend him much clout during such meetings, so Lance had grown used to sitting back and listening – usually, doing his best to pay attention, only to inevitably zone out looking at the visuals displayed around the room. Men, women and creatures alike, all in various states of mutilation, some with clear, gaping holes burned through them by plasma from a blaster – there was nothing quite like seeing a person with a cavern melted straight through their chest. Missing limbs, broken bones, empty eye sockets, blood – _so much blood_ – these were all things that the Prince seen more than enough of in his lifetime, and that had been back when he thought they were _winning_ the war.

Now?

The Prince’s throat felt tight.

At least Shiro, he reminded himself, of all of the paladins, _must_ know what he was getting himself into. He’d lost his _arm_.

A familiar knot tightened in the Prince’s stomach; he’d been the one to bring these humans into their war, sans Shiro. Would it be his fault if someone lost their an eye? Their hearing? What if they had to replace their leg, like the Black Paladin had to replace his arm?

All at once, his skin felt too tight, his muscles too tense, his heart clenching painfully in the cage of his ribs – the protective instincts to protect his sister reared at the thoughts of things he had seen at those tables. Surely, the guilt he would feel in harm befalling any of the paladins would be insurmountable, but if something happened to Allura?

He didn’t think he could live with that.

Lance glanced at the Yellow Paladin out of the edge of his vision, observed the human chat with Coran, a curious brow hooked high into his hairline.

Gods, Hunk was sweet, but oh, was he _innocent_.

For all the Prince could do – he could fire a sniper rifle with deadly precision, manipulate and mediate the flow of quintessence from a massive energy source and guide that energy through the various channels of the castleship, feel the lockbox of energy buried much deeper than his skin and blood and bones that resonated with the power, the spirit and soul of _Voltron_ , could feel it thrum with his pulse and spill forth when he laughed or gasped or cried.

Lance could do all of those things, but he could not be the one to break the Yellow Paladin’s spirit. He could not bear being responsible for banishing that goofy, genuine smile from the young man’s face.

“Alright, then,” Coran interrupted the Prince’s thoughts, for which he was grateful. “They’re waking now. Some of them might be too weak to stand, so try to be ready to brace them.”

Clearing his throat, Lance forced himself to focus on the immediate things he could actually _do_ something about, rather than fixate on all that could go wrong; he would not permit himself to stumble down into that ever-darkening pit of _what if_ ’s, else he might never see the light again.

Hunk moved towards the crypods, awkwardly shifting his weight back and forth between two of the prisoners while Lance took the middle two. Coran hurried to join them and stood near the remaining pod.

The healing chambers did not release simultaneously (the advisor was too wise to make them _all_ go inactive at the same time), each one staggered by about ten ticks between them. The first of the prisoners to stir was one of those in front of Prince Lance, and the figure managed not lurch forward, but they did sag heavily and accepted the Prince’s arm when he proffered it to help bolster their weight.

Weakly, the short, one-eyed Theban blinked – winked? – as his attention focused on Lance’s face. Recognition came with a wide, if not wary, smile, and their single eye filled with tears. “Y-You’re… King Alfor’s…?”

“Yes,” Lance crooked a grin of his own, voice soft. “I am Prince Lance of Altea. You’re safe. It’s going to be okay.”

The Theban didn’t need to know that the Prince had no quiznaking _clue_ whether or not they would actually be okay. He could not offer them much, but he could at least give them comfort – for now, that would have to do.

Following by the Prince’s example, Hunk’s two prisoners came to next, one a _large,_ almost draconic creature that Lance thought was some sort of Ocupuian-hybrid, and their massive arms embraced the Yellow Paladin like a stuffed plushie, squeezing gratefully with a loud, comfortable sigh. The other was a Wafi, whose name Lance would later learn to be Xi. He stood readily on his own two feet, needing no support, skin ashen and eyes wide, almost frantic, as they darted around the room.

“It– it’s true then, Voltron has returned… ” His voice was tight, eyes narrowed as his attention flickered between Hunk and the Prince. There was something about his tone, almost… _scathing_?

“It has,” Coran began to respond, preparing himself as his own prisoner began to rouse. “A new generation of Paladins have stepped up to take the place of those –”

Xi was stone-faced when he interrupted, voice betraying him by cracking towards the end. “Oh, yes, we know all about the _new paladins_. If your plan is to kill us, please, just do it now. Please.”

The Prince swallowed on the uncomfortable lump starting to set up shop in his throat. With his most authoritative voice, he said, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. No Paladin of Voltron would harm another living creature knowingly.”

As he finished, the Prince was forced to kneel as the last prisoner’s pods released its hatch, and Lance was glad he’d taken the chance to prepare himself. The final prisoner was the shortest of them all, blue and white speckled complexion of such a mixed heritage, he could not say with confidence what planet he may have hailed from. What he _could_ tell was that he collapsed forward, bodily bursting out of the container the moment he was free.

As Lance did his best to support his weight, the small alien groaned and squirmed in his grasp. Sighing, he tried his best to help them to stand.

Hunk was gently massaging circles into his rather huggy prisoner, and Lance felt a bit fortunate that he’d not been shouldered with that literal and metaphorical weight. (For the record, he _loved_ hugs, but that Ocupuian hybrid was _huge_ and looked pretty heavy.)

Xi stood uncomfortably with his arms crossed over his chest. “We saw the Champion here, _I’ve_ seen what he is capable of – what misunderstanding is there to have?”

Frowning, Hunk shot the Prince a look. Both seemed equally confused, so the paladin turned back and asked, “What about a champion?”

“ _The_ Champion, from the Emperor’s Arena.”

The prisoners, now mostly steady with the exception of Hunk’s new best friend, all stilled and grew tense at the mention of the title.

Coran bristled. “I assure you, there is no such creature on board this ship that goes by that title.”

“The Champion…” the Theban said, a strain in his high-pitched voice. “The Champion was a man, a creature called ‘human.’ He had a streak of white hair and a mechanical arm. He– he’s a _monster_. Please, don’t turn us over to him.”

“Shiro?” Hunk gaped, heaving the draconic man up and making him stand on his own two feet. “You must be, like, getting him confused for someone. Shiro is one of the nicest, most respected people where I’m from. He’s an amazing pilot, and a really, _really_ nice guy!”

Wary, Lance held up his hands and stepped between Xi and Hunk, not that there was any impending argument. It was more for his own benefit, as if putting up a physically barrier between the cognitive dissonance might help to make sense of the situation.

He’d heard of this _Champion_ before, exclusively through briefings provided by the Blade in the past several phoebs… They had more stationed operatives on the inside then any resistance force, so Lance wasn’t necessarily surprised that some of the most critical forewarnings of the war came from those debriefs.

A nervous chill turned his pulse cold, warning signals shooting down to his fingers and toes.

 _The Arena_.

Those same horrific images of mangled bodies, of brutalized soldiers and innocents alike, surfaced in his mind’s eye. Prince Lance looked to Xi, recognized the raw, genuine fear in the man’s expression, and couldn’t deny that this accusation… it, well, _fit_.

Perfectly, in fact.

They hadn’t know the Champion was human, just some creature anatomically similar to Alteans – bipedal with similar skin complexions and height and weight proportions, just with the exception of having awful ears – and had his arm removed sometime between his many trials during the arena. A scar over his nose. Light colored hair.

In their war, limbs were lost like a child might lose spare GAC, and so, Lance hadn’t thought twice of the Black Paladin’s prosthetic when he’d seen it, besides to curse the Galra for maiming another innocent person; Shiro had been just another victim in his mind.

But, considering Xi’s take of the situation and the facts they had known before – it was like an image suddenly becoming clear in the ripples of a lake’s surface. Indeed, Lance couldn’t even say he was surprised after having seen Shiro train; it almost made _too_ much sense. How hadn’t he put that together on his own?

“I think there’s…” he spoke slowly, brow pinched together. “An explanation here… but, please, make no mistakes. We aren’t aligned with Zarkon. Did you hear word of Altea since your imprisonment?”

Xi cautiously met eyes with some of his fellow prisoners before ultimately shaking his head.

“We don’t hear much on the inside, rumors, mostly. But we assumed it wasn’t possible...”

Coran stiffened, and Hunk sent Lance a decidedly uneasy look.

The Prince ignored them, tone harsh and unapologetically so.

“Whatever rumors you may have heard, I’ll put them to rest – Altea has been destroyed. Only dust remains, and the King and Queen are both dead as well. With the exception of those Alteans who had been off-planet at the time, none of whom we have made successful contact with, it is just Princess Allura, Coran, and myself. I do not doubt that you’ve seen the Champion with your own eyes, but I do not doubt what I’ve seen with mine. Shiro, our Black Paladin, is no monster to fear.”

Mixed looks of horror and grim resignation looked back at him. With a steady exhale through his nose, Lance raised his expression into a tired smile, extending an arm back towards the elevator.

“Why don’t we give you some proper clothes and a meal, and then we’ll talk? I think that might help. I promise to you, on what little worth such a promise might mean these quintant, that we are on your side.”

With no small amount of reluctance, the prisoners began to converge around Xi, forming something of a unit before shuffling towards the elevators. Hunk tried to speak comforting words to them, though whether or not it was effective was anybody’s guess; their expressions became increasingly transparent the longer the Yellow Paladin quizzed and chattered at them, but Prince Lance wasn’t wholly convinced he liked what he saw in those faces as their guards began to slip.

As their voices receded, Lance turned to Coran, a sobering expression on the old man’s face as he fixed the Prince in his gaze. It was apparent that he wanted to talk, or at least say something, but Lance wasn’t particularly in the mood.

He shook his head and nodded in the direction of the kitchens. “Go ahead with Hunk to get them taken care of. I’ll update the paladins.”

Without giving the older Altean a chance to respond, the Prince turned the other direction, taking long strides in the direction of the bridge — he rather liked the bridge as of late, it was the place he felt most helpful, most actionable.

Perhaps the only place, if he were being honest.

In any event, everything in the bridge felt more… _natural_ , his body and consciousness more receptive to the quintessence of the castle now that he’d been doing this for nearly a movement, had the opportunity to adjust the ebb and flow of power that coursed within and through him. The Castle of Lions was a part of him, responding more and more in reaction to his impulses than his cognitive directions, doors that were usually locked opening for him, or lights turning on or off without Lance having to think about it; by the time he arrived at the control room, the power nodes were already raised from the ground, waiting for him.

Lance stepped up, his palms resting over the smoothed, cool surface with a sense of familiarity, and he opened the comms channel.

Lance prepared his most hopeful smile, not that they would see it.

It was more for him, anyway.

“Helllllllllo, paladins!”

There was a pause, and his sister was the first to respond. “Hello, Brother! Have the prisoner’s woken up?”

“Ah.” He took a moment. Right… there was the matter of Shiro and… no, there would be time for that later. “Yes, they’re all awake. I think they have some really interesting information to share with us, in fact, but Hunk is getting them fed and adjusted at the moment. How is recon going?”

“Oh, well, it’s —“

A jolt of surprise followed when another hopped onto the channel, overriding his sister's voice.

“We wasted a bunch of time looking for a way to deactivate this drone so Pidge could keep it as a pet,” the Red Paladin grumbled, only for his green counterpart to snap back a moment later.

“ _Not a pet!_ ”

Confused by Keith’s interruption, Lance wondered what that lilt to his tone was… he sounded, almost… what, _smug_?

“You literally named it _Rover_. Anyway, well, we got the thing. I did, anyway —

His sister, Shiro _and_ Pidge all began to speak at once before Keith could finish, and the Prince was even more unsure of what they were going on about as they all talked over one another.

“ _My plan would have worked if we had just…!”_

“ _Keith, no one likes a show off.”_

“ _You’re an asshole, would you get your Galra ass in here and lift this gate?”_

“–Basically,” the Red Paladin forced his tone to be louder than the others. “We wasted a bunch of time trying to get it down. I threw a rock at it, and we got it in about five seconds.”

After a moment of steady silence, Prince Lance began to laugh, bending over at the waist and using the pillars at the dais to support himself.

It felt like it had been a long time since laughter like that had filled his ears, lifted his heart from the pit in his stomach, put him at ease. With a warm exhale, his last laugh passing out with the breath, the Prince cleared his throat.

“Well so you’ve got a… rover. And the ship?”

After several ticks, Shiro weighed in. “Your sister and Pidge are working together to see if, between them, they’re able to make sense of their systems. Keith and I aren’t of much help,” he admittedly sheepishly.

“Not true,” said Allura, her usually fierce determination ringing in her tone. “Your hand has been extremely helpful in opening some of these locked passages. The Galra’s tech seems to recognize Shiro’s prosthetic as comparable to a drone, I think?”

“And Purple Boy here seems to be Galra _enough_ that it’s let us in anything that requires a living person's hand print. It’s sort of smart, but sort of stupid.”

The Red Paladin, or “Purple Boy,” huffed. “How do you figure?”

“Well, the castleship only responds to us because of Prince Lance’s quintessence and our connection to the Lions, right? It’s sort of dumb that the Galra set up their technology to rely simply on genetic matching instead of like, fingerprinting or some sort of like, quintessence-checker.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I suspect there’s a reason for that.” Lance hummed, curling his fingers over the concave bases at his sides. “You’d have to ask Coran to be certain, but I _think_ — ”

The Prince and Pidge went back and forth, Allura chiming in on occasion, about the structure of ship design. He had to admit his knowledge was limited to a compounded few quintant’s worth of education, but having an intimately tied connection to the castleship itself gave him, he felt, at least some authoritative ground to speak on the matter.

In any event, Shiro and Keith stood nearby as the Princess and Pidge set-up shop near a massive, mostly intact monitor with a keyboard more appropriately sized for a creature of myth than a human, listening but not particularly contributing to the conversation.

Keith noticed first, head snapping up towards the direction of the ceiling – well, what was left of it, anyway. The aft of the vessel had sustained minor interior damage relative to the bow and midship, but had the port wall torn off and peeled back like a child might do to the rine of an orange, revealing a slice of Arus’s sky overhead. It was there had he saw a flash of color, burning and bright like ruby starburst, something like a… laser?

_Shit._

He gripped Shiro’s upper arm, voice quiet so as not to alarm the others, and made sure his mic was off of the transmission with the castleship.

“Shiro.” Keith said, nodding up towards the opening.

The man blinked, focusing first on Keith’s features with a furrowed brow before tilting his head back and scanning the clouds. The moment the Black Paladin saw the sight, he too was immediately alert.

Cutting off the Green Paladin’s next, half-formed question, Shiro spoke calmly over the channel.

“I don’t mean to startle anyone, but I think we’ve got company. Something entering the atmosphere, looks like its headed this way. Pidge, how much longer do you need?”

“What?” The young paladin snapped up, looking from the screen to sky and then back again. “Um, like, just two more minutes, two dobosh,” she added the last part as an afterthought for the Alteans.

The Black Paladin narrowed his gaze at the light purple display, the seconds dragging by as the little loading bar barely inched along. He could feel the Keith’s gaze, and could see the tension in the Princess’s shoulders as she too hunched over the loading screen.

There just… wouldn’t be enough time. Sighing, he moved forward, ready to drag her away if need be.

“Pidge, I’m sorry, but we _need_ to get out of here. Lance, do you have any visual or readings of things that might be in the atmosphere?”

A half-frantic Pidge knocked Shiro’s hand from her shoulder, digging in her heels. “No, just give me a little more time. Please.”

No sooner had she made the request was the Prince speaking into their ears again, his earlier cheer gone from his tone.

“No ships, nothing massive enough to disrupt the planetary gravity, no tectonic activity… I can check, hmm, well maybe this…”

The Princess spoke up, her voice steely. “Lance, I love you, but please stop muttering.”

Castleside, Lance flinched. “Oh, quiznak, sorry.”

He switched off the scanners and decided to try to search manually, flipping to the sentry displays and maneuvered the lenses to the skies blind. It took a moment of orienting himself, but he found the paladin’s signal and turned towards that, and then searched the horizon nearby.

“I’ve got eyes on it… on… _gods, what is that thing?_ ” Enhancing the visual as best he could, Lance steadied the image and watched it burn red-hot like a falling star as it rocketed towards the surface. There was something… disturbingly _anatomical_ about it, but, _no_ – they couldn’t have started using those again, but…

“A _robeast_ ,” he breathed, and his sister’s breath caught. Across Arus, natives like Klaizap looked towards the heavens, watching with awe as a star fell from the sky, unbeknowst to the danger they were now in.

“Lance, I must have misheard you, because I _thought_ you said –” replied the Blue Paladin, her voice no longer steady and inspiring.

He flipped to the local communications channel, not bothering to listen to the end of her statement, and listened to the steel in his own voice as it reverberated down the long, empty halls of the castle.

“ _Hunk, get to your Lion immediately. Coran, I need you on the bridge. Now._ ”

And, in spite the quintant they’d spent training, their team was so obviously clumsy and unpracticed in the ways of battle that it was actually a little embarrassing for the Prince to watch them bumble their way through the beginning, gripped between a state of fear and relief as things _just barely_ worked out, over and over again. There had been so many ‘close calls’ that he would have been genuinely surprised if he hadn’t earned himself any gray hairs before the fight was over.

Hunk had barely managed to get to his Lion in time to draw the robeast’s attention away as it readied an ion beam. Had it made its mark, it would have turned the paladins to vapor, because, for Oriande knows what reason, they were refusing to get _out_ of there. It took Black roaring, deep in the castle, the force of the sound so loud and fearsome that it had made Prince Lance’s legs quake beneath him, for the other Lions to move out of their hangars and after their stranded paladins.

Honestly, Hunk was the most impressive in the whole mess. He’d taken Prince Lance’s directive to heart and flew headlong towards an enemy that was five times his size and at least a thousand times more hostile, tittering away in the comms channel fearful but determined. Upon his arrival, the Yellow Paladin was a force to be reckoned with, holding no punches when it came to keeping the others safe. He slammed Yellow into the monstrosities chest with enough force to unbalance it (“ _Battle-lion headbutt!_ ”), managed to draw its stupid little tractor-ball thing away from the crashed Galra ship long enough for the other Lions to dock outside and gather their respective paladins.

Lance watched, nerves wound tighter than he could ever remember, as they readied themselves to form Voltron for the first time in battle (as a strategy instead of a last resort). His hands clutched the stone nodes at his side like a lifeline, felt himself lean into the ship’s power for support, the same uncertainty and fear that he’d felt the first time he had to stay behind while they went out in their Lions all over again.

Actually, this time it was even worse, because he felt like he _knew_ these paladins, knew what was at stake for them more than just Allura and himself. Lance knew that Pidge was looking for her brother, Matt, and her father, Sam, and that Shiro had a marriage that had come apart before he’d been taken by the Galra, before he’d been turned into the _Champion_ , if Xi were to believed; he knew that Keith had lost his family, twice, and found it again, once, and that even if he looked Galra he held none of their beliefs; he had learned that Hunk had a laugh that could put even Mother’s to shame, and that they would have gotten along, and that the young man was really just _that_ nice to _everyone_.

The knots in his stomach, twisted and coiled three times over, and honestly, the Prince felt like he might sick – until, in a brilliant moment of clarity, he felt it.

_It._

It was something inexplicable, as subtle as it was overwhelming, about the kind of _power_ that would soothe his pulse at the same time that it encircled his bones, an itch in his muscles that surged with _triumph_ and pulled his lips into an automatic smile. It happened in a fraction of a tick, but Lance could _feel_ the feather-light finger resting on a trigger of astronomical proportions, a key seated, unmoving, in an unopened lock, a staccato heartbeat, unapologetically plucked restless before an overture – Lance could _feel_ the moment that the paladins formed Voltron, as aware of it as he was of his own existence.

“Stars, they’ve done it,” he breathed a heavy sigh, dropping his head forward and letting his weight sag into the beams at his hips. It was thrilling, would probably _always_ be thrilling, like falling and floating at the same time, adrenaline spiked his pulse, a fever pitch fluttering in his veins as he watched, arm, leg, leg, arm, head come together, all of the pieces fitting just _so_ , all of their wills put behind a single driving force.

They had done it this time without hesitation. They had formed _Voltron._

But that did not mean the battle was won, only that they were ready to begin… and it already wasn’t going well.

Keith’s mic crackled, along with his voice, as Voltron tumbled in place against the force of the orb smashing into his and Pidge’s Lions as they formed a haphazard shield.

“ _U-Ugh!_ ” The Red Paladin grunted. “We need a plan, it’s getting closer to the Arusian village and we’re not able to get close enough to do much damage.”

“Great pep talk,” Pidge grumbled in response, and Lance winced when he heard his sister give a frightened yelp in her Lion.

Quickly, she apologized, her focus seemingly restored with the same amount of immovable force that Hunk was providing. “I – sorry, I was just startled!”

Coran shot the Prince a concerned look before leaning forward. “If you can get it nearer to the castle, we might be...”

“No, we can’t,” Hunk interrupted. “We’d have to pass over the Arusian village to get to you and that’s just asking for them to get like, stomped on. Like those _Rampage_ games except they’re the civilians and _we’re_ the giant lizards.”

Scandalized, the Blue Paladin replied, “Hunk, I’m sorry if you’ve been confused, but Voltron is a giant _robot_ , not a lizard. I thought that was rather obvious.”

“No, no, I mean like –”

“ _Guys,_ ” Shiro said, and Lance could imagine his jaw clenched tightly. “We need to _focus_!”

No sooner had the words been said did Voltron get knocked back, off its feet, and Lance dug his nails into the stone pillars at his side. He hated being this far away from the fight – he hated not being able to _help_.

“Coran,” he said with pursed lips, eyeing the battle as Voltron struggled to stand again. “Should we try to fly? I think I’m ready, and if we land over there, perhaps…”

The advisor seemed like he was considering it, too, stressed by the sound of grunts and crackling audio that fed into the control room. “I’m not sure, your Highness. The choice is up to you.”

“Um…”

Right. He was the Overseer, wasn’t he? The Castle was his, which meant the decision was, too.

Lance bit his bottom lip, and without the luxury of time to mull it over, squeezed the smooth surfaces at his side, wrapping himself up in the quintessence of the Castle in his indecision. The paladins obviously needed help, but the castle’s aim would be poor from this distance – they might even hit Voltron – not to mention the prisoners were awake and left alone, and to take off with them in such conditions would...

He watched as Voltron took another strike to the side, a brutal one that sounded with a heavy _thunk_ of Pidge’s armor against her dashboard, and she groaned in response to a chorus of concerned voices.

“No.” He grit his teeth, refusing to flinch when the next hit struck the side of the Blue Lion. “No, they can do this. They _are_ Voltron, we put our faith in them.”

 

* * *

 

As the Green Paladin regained her bearings, Keith ground out a few bitter words. “I thought Voltron was the most powerful weapon in the universe.”

Allura jumped in, immediately defensive. “It _is_. _We_ are!”

“Then why is the monster totally kicking the quiznak out of us right now?” retorted Pidge, sounding noticeably worse for wear.

Interrupting, Hunk sounded close to being sick – which was actually accurate, his stomach having turned almost twice already. “Uh, guyssssssss…!”

They just barely managed to veer left away from the orb, and using the Green Lion’s shield, kept their back protected from the rebound.

Princess Allura’s voice was whip-sharp, fittingly so. “These robeasts are Zarkon’s creations – he takes wounded or broken men and women from his military and transforms them into… into _monsters_. I haven’t seen one in decaphoebs, I don’t know why… why they would start using them again like this.”

“That’s… awful,” Hunk offered quietly, apologetic, and Shiro cut in while the ‘robeast’ began to charge its orb for another attack.

His head was pounding, and the voices in his ears were not helping his focus. With no small amount of effort, he forced calm into his tone.

“I agree, it _is_ terrible, but right now, it’s trying to kill us and the Arusians. We need to stop it, we need to figure out a weakness… And, _agh_ , what is that _sound?_ Is that on your end, Lance, Coran?”

All of them quieted, ears straining to pick up on some anomaly.

“I don’t hear anything at all,” the Altean advisor provided after a moment. “Describe it, if you could.”

Shiro sounded almost anxious. “It’s like this… _buzzing_?”

“Incoming, orb-ball-thing!” Pidge warned, and Shiro’s attention flashed forward with barely a second to spare, side-stepping as the orb flew past them. It came back around like the classic boomerang, faster than he’d anticipated, and they barely managed to raise the shield in time to minimize the intensity of the blow.

“ _Aghh, c’mon!_ ” Keith growled, and the Black Paladin could hear his thrusters straining against what was surely a vice grip, while Allura and Pidge uttered similar sounds of frustration.

More to himself than anything, he held his focus on the parry as best he could, muttering, “There has to be _something_ …”

But the overwhelming force of the orb, drawn back to that bizarre wand-stick was too much, like trying to force apart two polar magnetic forces or to divide an atom, the two would not stay separated for long, and a large, unfortunately placed rock had their footing thrown off, Allura’s leg slipping and the whole of Voltron’s body flipping back with the added shove from the orb.

And, as if the universe had been testing him, waiting until the last possible moment before the Black Paladin’s sanity would snap, Shiro had a revelation. A memory that rose to the surface that he’d, by some far cry of possibilities, _remembered_ when the orb whizzed overtop them.

Apparently, he and this ‘robeast’ were not strangers after all.

“I…” he felt a bit dazed, aware that the others were calling his name but too absorbed in the sensory memory to hear them. “I remember... _I remember!_ I fought this monster when I was a prisoner, in some… some arena, I think. I-I know how to beat him! Listen, there's a loud sound when the orb returns to the base of the weapon, and every third time, that orb needs to charge up. That's this monster's weakest point. That's when we strike.”

No one questioned the announcement, though, planetside it did settle uncomfortably in the Prince’s stomach like a stone he’d been forced to swallow.

_The Champion, indeed._

Shiro took command of the situation, embodied the power bestowed upon him by his title as the Black Paladin.

“That’s two, get ready! On the next one, we’ll give him everything we’ve got with our blasters!”

The paladins braced themselves and followed through with Shiro’s plan, and Lance winced at every opportunity, but the Black Paladin’s earlier intuition had been quite right – upon the third strike, the orb returned to the base and a soft light began to emit from the base as it charged up for its next strike, only to unleash hugely destructive ion beams from both Red and Green.

“Alright, well, anyone got any other ideas?” Pidge asked testily, somewhere between annoyed and genuinely angry with the situation.

“No, no, this should work I just… ”

Hunk, ever the realist, chimed in, “Uh, we don’t really have a lot of times to chat about this one, guys! He’s charging up again!”

Both Red and Blue paladin began to speak in response to that, their voices failing to cancel the others out – it only made the whole thing more confusing.

“ _We should try Shiro’s method again, but this time –”_

_“The Arusian’s should be our top priority, let’s move away from the –”_

Frustrated both by his inability to help and his poor vantage point of the fight, Lance wanted to reach through the comms channel and shake them.

“Would you all _shut your quiznaks?!_ ” he snapped, harsher than he meant, and the channel went dead silent in response. “You may be trying to work together, and it’s better than before, but you’re not actually _communicating!_ You’re not _listening_ to each other, _or_ your Lions. I can feel their frustration with all of you – pilot or otherwise!”

Quietly, his sister began, “Brother, I’m… I’m sorry, we didn’t–”

“ _No!_ Don’t apologize! I’m sick of everyone _apologizing!_ ”

He didn’t mean to pour out all of this now, like this, but he could feel the threads of his own heartstrings pulled taut over their poor performance. The Lions were annoyed with each other, much as the pilots were, but it wasn’t _solving_ anything, and it was causing his own edges to tatter in response. There was crashing waves trying to weather against the edges of a warm cliff-face, fires set to the kindling of a wildwood forest, skies falling and crashing and drowning the earth in its weight.

“You’re treating Voltron like a _tool_ and then getting mad at the _machine_ for not winning you this fight. You’re not just a shield, or a set of legs, you are a _weapon_! Start acting like it! Be destructive, be angry or violent if you have to be – use Voltron like you would your bayards! You are the universe’s greatest hope, but you have to be _willing to fight_ for the universe for any of this to work. And when you lose, get back up _together_ instead of getting upset and arguing over things when something goes wrong.”

“I…” Allura started, her voice unsure at first, but it snapped back to its usual stringency after a pause. “My brother is right. We _must_ work together. Shiro, you’re the leader. You’ve fought this before, what did you do differently the first time?”

“ _Dodge!_ ” Hunk interjected, and mercifully, the other paladins reacted quickly enough. At least they weren’t getting bombarded with hits at this point.

“...I, I don’t know!” the Black Paladin admitted, sounding frustrated. “I don’t remember most of when I was in there… we had weapons of choice and I used a sword or my arm most of the time?”

Grinding his teeth, Lance felt the Red Lion, felt the impression of Father nettle between his ribs and mix with the more mysterious smirks and knowingness of the bold Galra-hybrid to have taken his place. Their presences were _singing_ , calling out with Red’s voice, and he was deaf but to listen, to follow the melody as it turned the essence of his thoughts molten. Like a smithy of the celeste, ready to wrought a blade from the suns and stars and moons, he felt the edges of his soul soften, kissed by the kiln-warmth of creation, ready to be molded and forged to suit the needs of the universe’s greatest hope.

_A sword._

“Your sword.” The Prince exhaled, barely audible against the hissing and crackling of audio as Voltron was thrashed by laser and orb. Coran turned around, having caught the sound but not the words.

“Your Highness? Are you alright?”

Lance shook his head, felt his ponytail and cape dance around his shoulders.

More urgently this time, he said, “ _Your sword!_ You have to take out your sword!”

There was a pause, like the paladins were each chewing on this suggestion like it made any amount of sense to them.

“...We can _do_ that?” Hunk asked eventually.

“Wait, my Lion –” Keith interrupted, “It’s trying to get me to do something.”

The Princess’s voice cut in, “Well, do it quickly, look!”  

And ahead of them, an orb was flying straight forward with fearsome, destructive speed, ready to tear into their already battered armor – it was less than ticks away – but a sudden flare of fireworks erupted in his chest and Lance felt a new pull at the bond that threaded them all together, like a five-way scale had been thrown slightly off-balance, but not so much as to send the other side tumbling; instead, this was heat, scorching fire that felt of angry and frustration. It was the will of a volcanic world, collapsing, superheating to the point of distorting light and space, starbursts of ruby and blood and rust and scarlet mixing together into a pulse of will, a surge of quintessence that delivered an awesome flash of corresponding colors in real-time, like someone had rubbed terracotta into the margins of a canvas rendering, and Lance’s heart stilled as he saw the moment unfold, the assurance and might with which Voltron’s unsheathed its of the Red Lion, and in a fluid movement, they knocked the orb aside like one might swat a pest from the air.

“Whoa,” Keith hummed in approval. “Nice job, Red.”

With a second wind, the paladins launched themselves towards the robeast, now with their sword at the ready.

And, gods, even then, Lance could not relax. He felt like he was choking on the size of his own heart, his skin felt too tight over his body. Waiting was by far the worst brand of torture. It had none of the exhilarating nervousness, the adrenaline-filled brushes with death, the sense of triumph and bonding that came with a victory. The sidelines were the homes of anxieties and doubts and worries, and even as the paladins celebrated, even as a warmth coiled in his chest at their resounding win, the Prince hugged his arms across his chest, afraid he might completely fall apart if he didn’t physically hold himself together.

He didn’t share in their feeling of victory, at least, not to the same extent. There was a rift somewhere between them, and while their spirits were high with the thrill of overcoming the enemy, Lance felt like he could breathe a little easier with the weight of his relief.

The whole thing – it had all been _so_ close. Had Shiro not had his revelation, had Hunk not been so quick to act, had Keith not found the will to draw forth Voltron’s sword, they very well might have _lost_. So many people could have died and he had to just sit by and watch and _hope_ to the stars that this wasn’t how their story ended.

Around him, the room seemed to have tilted, the edges spinning and his ability to focus on any one thing starting to fade. Everything was a mixed cacophony of color and sounds and sensations, and before he could realize what he was doing, the Prince began to back away, losing his footing at the edge of the platform and nearly falling back completely.

It was with a startle that he felt hands catch his weight, narrowly keeping him from hitting the floor.

“Prince Lance! Are you alright?”

He blinked, his vision swimming for a moment on the space in front of him, finally forming into a face, but –

“ _Xi?_ ” He gripped the side of his head, overcome by a sudden sense of nausea that had his ears ringing and limbs wrought from lead instead of bone. The rest of prisoners were huddled around them, the Theban and the Ocupian-hybrid and the others that Lance had not managed to place. Carefully, they all helped him to stand, and Coran was already apparating at his side and wrapping his arm around him in an attempt to hold him steady.

“Your Highness, what’s happened?”

“I’m ...M’fine,” he cleared his throat, straightening his posture as the prisoners shuffled back at Coran’s encouragement. “We came when we heard some of the – and I didn’t imagine – _that was… Voltron lives_! Well and truly. I apologize for my accusations earlier, that was – _you all were amazing_.”

“Oh, um,” he pinked, unsure why the compliment would serve to fluster him, but he tried to shake his head dismissively.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I understand why you would…” he paused, biting his lower lip. He thought of Shiro, failed to imagine what sort of life he must have had in the arena. If he hadn’t respected the man before, he certainly did now. “Standing up to protect the universe from Zarkon is all we can do, it’s… it’s their destiny.”

For the first time since he’d seen any of them, Xi and the others all began to smile, exchanging nods and encouraging banter.

“The paladins will be flying into their hangars soon, and if you’d like the chance to say thank you to them personally you should. They are the ones doing all of the work, truly.” He smiled, feeling a bit of his strength return to him.

He hadn’t realized that his temperature had felt so high until Coran finally released him, and Lance managed not to sway on his feet. Perhaps it was related to the moment he felt of Red crying out to do something?

“And perhaps you might consider speaking to The Champion yourselves. I think he deserves to tell you his own story. If not for what you saw today, then at least do it for me, as a favor to the memory of Altea. Give him a chance to show you who he can be without Zarkon’s collar.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” mumbled the Theban who he had earlier helped to stand, and they bowed low to the ground in deference. Lance blinked, head tilting mechanically to watch their movements, struggling to understand why they would be thanking _him_. He didn’t actually do anything.

Xi mirrored the sentiment, and then the others, and he felt lost beneath the weight of his own crown.

“I – please, rise. You have each kept yourselves intact despite what unthinkable things Zarkon has put you through… Do not feel you owe me, or anyone in this universe, anything for your freedom. Surviving in spite of Zarkon’s tyranny… that is how we will win. That is how we will show him that we don’t give up.”

Xi fixed the Prince in his sights, a strange look on his face that wasn’t quite contempt but wasn’t quite content, either. It was more like… confused-respect? It didn’t seem bad, at least, and for that Lance was at least grateful.

“I understand your wishes, Prince of Altea. We will survive, and we will do all we can to aid in the fight against Zarkon. Let us move forward… together.”

The other prisoners around him all nodded or hummed their assent, smiles wide and sincere, and Lance was helpless but to return their expressions, a different kind of victory settling into the space between his ribs, nested beside the triumph of victory in battle.

This was – this was hope. And it was his to give and share and inspire.


	8. Celebration of Change (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paladins try to move forward, starting a new chapter -- that means getting off Arus -- amongst other things.  
> "Other things" include:  
> Being honest about your feelings.  
> Growing from your mistakes.  
> Moving forward.  
> Teaching the Prince about memes.  
> Being pinned to the wall by a nice looking Galra hybrid.  
> ...Lance might have written that last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN ME SO LONG! ugh!!!! this is so unlike me but this chapter was so challenging to write I just wanted it to be perfect, ontop of focusing a lot of energy on finishing star-crossed and starting a few other works (why do I do this to myself!?!)
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait. because it's a little longer than the other chapters in this story I split it up into two, thanks for reading and being patient with me <3 love u xoxo

In the newly wet ink of history, still drying on Time’s curling tome, it read that with the fall of Altea, Voltron returned.

Across the universe, many took this to mean that the end times were upon them. Rumors flittered between star systems like the inky blackness of space, swelling to fill the silence with take-no-prisoner’s speculation and hold-no-punches brands of doubt.

Some said Prince Lance stole his sister’s claim to the throne, or that Princess Allura had set the trap for her parents, which was how she and her brother had conveniently ended up off-planet. Others suspected that both siblings had fallen to corruption, taking up druid’s hoods in favor of sapphire-lined silver crowns, and they betrayed Altea and their people.

The majority simply believed them both dead.

Why _else_ would Voltron return only after Altea collapsed?

Oddly enough, some of the rumors _were_ at least rooted in the truth, but they were all twisted to suit the sharp tongues of dirty back alleys and the shifty-eyes in the outskirts of black market stalls.

Whispers carried news that the _Champion_ , a bloodthirsty, ruthless alien creature that had been experimented upon by the druids was the leader of Voltron; perhaps worse, there was _another_ Galra amongst the new generation of paladins, though this one was suspected to pilot King Alfor’s lion instead of the Black Lion, which just added insult to the injury of a dead race.

Universal pessimism began to spread. Doubt and fear led to the collapse of more and more governments, planetary structures, freedom fighting star systems; without King Alfor – without _Voltron_ – how could any small group, cluster of planets, race of people… how could _anyone_ bring themselves to stand up and fight?

How could people find hope when there reality had been cast behind an opaque veil of endless night, starless and dark, no prospect of crossing over into a light world beyond?

As far as the greater universe was concerned, there was no more hope.

Nothing worth fighting for.

But that wasn’t true everywhere. There were at least four humans, a Galra-human hybrid, three Alteans and a tiny, floating robot, scattered around the lounge of a massive castle situated on a small planet, and _they,_ at least, hoped.

They dreamed.

They fought.

And, well, sometimes they fought amongst themselves, too.

“We _need_ to warn them!” Hunk pleaded, and the Red Paladin only grit his teeth before glancing towards Shiro at the other end of the room.

The Altean siblings sat in the lounge, brows furrowed, looking almost like twins rather than four decaphoebs apart as their eyes followed the human’s discourse across the living room like a volley of sinten, one of the games of the ancients that, according to legend, involved a wild xznly squiwl being passed back and forth and lots of screaming.

It had been a few varga since seeing off Xi and the other prisoners in a borrowed ship. They gave them the best intelligence they could as far as a safe zone might be, near Olkarion, but had instructed them to proceed with caution. After the loss of Altea, it was a fool’s errand to consider any place _safe_ anymore.

“Yeah, well, after we took off with _him_ ,” Keith responded, voice sharp, “I don’t think they’re going to be super happy to see us again! Excuse me for not wanting to go back and tell the Garrison, hey, by the way, murderous purple-skinned, yellow-eyed, big-eared fucking _aliens_ might come and try to invade the fucking _planet_. By the way, ignore the fact that _I’m_ purple and that my eyes are yellow, definitely don’t read into that.”

Hunk flinched, and neither Lance or Allura could blame him. Even half-Galra, their Red Paladin was around 63 strata (or, they had learned, about 188 “centimeters,” whatever the quiznak _that_ meant), and had a temper that was no doubt inherited from his admittedly vague maternal lineage. It was a strange adjustment even for the Alteans, to reevaluate their view of the race that destroyed their planet, but Keith was the exception to the rule. Red chose him, and he’d proven himself plenty by now as being committed to their team.

It was for that reason that Hunk clenched his jaw and didn’t back down, intimidated but not afraid. “Do you seriously think we would _let_ them do that, Keith? We wouldn’t, not _ever_ , but if you’re worried you can stay on the ship with Allura and Lance and Coran. But think about it – if they managed to do what they did to Altea, who are like, a billion more times advanced than Earth – don’t you think we _have_ to warn them? My family is still there, man. Shiro’s parents and Pidge’s Mom, too.”

Said Green Paladin, who had been laying flat on her stomach in front of her “lap top” (which was confusing to the royal siblings, because, it more often than not sat on a table, bench, or the floor rather than her lap), looked up at the sound of her name. Her face drained of color.

Rover, hovering idly around the room, beeped a few times.

“Oh, god. We can’t go back. I can’t – my Mom will literally _murder_ me. I left without a single word. _Fuuuuuuuuck_.”

“Language,” Shiro warned, exasperated, a hand covering part of his face.

Her response was practically a hiss, accompanied by a glare in Keith’s direction. “What, so Purple Boy can say fuck all he wants because he’s Galra and I can’t say fuck because I’m fourteen?”

Not appreciating the lack of back-up on Pidge’s part, Hunk crossed his arms sulkily and returned the conversation to the subject of debate.

“This is serious! You’d be really upset if something actually happened to your Mom, Pidge. Aren’t we supposed to be protecting people or something?! What good are we as _defenders of the universe_ if we can’t protect our own planet?”

Perhaps involuntarily, the Prince scoffed, the sound harsh and grating. “Uh, ouch.”

The seething hostility that had suffused the air vanished almost immediately, replaced instead by guilt when the humans caught sight of the royal siblings, waiting patiently while they argued.

Sighing, the Princess shifted her weight and looked down at her folded hands. She disliked hearing Lance speak with such bitterness in his tone, and the particular degree of insult implied on Hunk’s part had struck a nerve for her.

Still, she needed to maintain her composure, for her brother’s sake if nothing else. “We... understand your resentment, truly, and we are quite aware that we failed our own planet, but it is, at the same time, a bit... _frustrating_ to watch you argue fruitlessly. Perhaps your energy would be better spent doing something other than speaking yourselves into circles.”

“I –” Hunk began, defensive, but his rebuttal died on his lips and instead he let out a long sigh. Visibly wilting, the heavyset teenager maneuvered to the couch and flopped down beside the Prince, who, seated with arms spread across the back of the cushions, gave the top of the human’s head two understanding _pat-pat_ s.

“Sorry…” Hunk sat up a bit, focusing on his thumbs as he flexed them back and forth. “I’m just feeling super overwhelmed right now. I’m, like, a _has-three-pencils-at-all-time, relied-on-my-daily-planner_ kind of guy, so my anxiety is pretty out of bounds right now. Plus my sertraline is still sitting in my dorm room. I get this is important, but I just miss my bed. Ugh. You know what I mean?”

“Uhh.” Lance looked to Allura, who shook her head, then back to the Yellow Paladin. “You just used at least three words we don’t know. Are they... _important_ to understanding the point?”

Keith, who continued to impress with his respectful and graceful rhetoric, muttered, “This is a waste of fucking time.”

Exhaling through his nose, Shiro sent the Red Paladin a warning look as he stepped down into the lounge area, deep lines set in his forehead. “Keith, we’re a team, we’re all on the same side here. We’re supposed to be focused on working together.”

“I – I _know_. I’m just frustrated.” As if to prove his point, the paladin carded his hands through his hair, pushing down his large, curving ears in the process. “Of course we _all_ want to go home, but what good would that do? No offense, but if Altea was so much more advanced than Earth, wouldn’t it just be a waste of time to travel there to warn them? Earth doesn’t have technology anywhere _near_ advanced enough to try to fight the Galra. We should be focused on _stopping_ Zarkon _before_ they can get close enough to Earth for it to be a target, not waste time warning the Garrison and then trying to trudge through all the red tape on Earth of who they are,” he motioned to the Alteans, “what _I_ am, what Voltron is – isn’t it better to just focus on what we _can_ do, now?”

Pidge closed the lid of her laptop and rested her chin in her open palm, thoughtful.

“I mean, I agree with you overall. I _do_ kinda wish I could go home and beg my Mom’s forgiveness and grab a few of my things, but that’d also be a waste of time overall.” Exhaling steadily, the girl rolled over onto her back, staring up into the ceiling. “But we shouldn’t rush this, either. We’re coming into the _middle_ of a war that hasn’t even been ours to fight up until, what, a week ago? It’s not like we can just form Voltron and go beat the shi–” she paused, eyes flickering to Shiro, “ _beat up_ Emperor Zarkon and be done with it. There’s like, tons and tons of star systems and planets that are all enslaved or under the Galra Empire’s control, right? We have to be strategic or else more people will end up getting killed, _we_ could get killed. We were barely able to stand up against that – what did you guys call it? A…?”

“Robeast,” Prince Lance finished, brushing some of his sisters hair away from his face – it had begun encroaching on this own personal space, poofy and wild as it was – but swiftly gave up and just leaned his head back, sighing. “I don’t know if there’s an equivalent in your language. In fact, I’d bet there’s not. Combine person, technology, quintessence, and fuse them together into a monstrosity of magic and science. _That’s_ a robeast. _”_

Lance lifted a hand and mindlessly began to gather a small stream of quintessence from the air, coalescing the shape into fluid, obsequious orb that shimmered in hues of soft blue at his fingertips. “They’re abominations made by the Druids.”

“ _Lance_.” Allura shot him a look, and she watched as he bit his tongue, frustrated, and clamped his fist closed around the quintessence. The ball of collected energy silently bled out into the air and vanished.

She knew he wanted to tell them more about the Druids, about Altea and Zarkon – and honestly, the Princess wanted to as well. There was a distinctive uneasiness she felt in skirting around the truth, but distracting from the team’s immediate goals would only serve to do more harm than good. Once they were off Arus, safely tucked in some far star-system with a better sense of what was going on around them – that was the time for such conversations.

Not now.

Sighing, the Princess turned her attention back to the paladins, adding a touch of warmth to her tone.

“I apologize for any of the guilt or anger or frustration you must feel towards us. Our goal has never been to make you feel like you’re being kept captive.” Pausing, she took a steady breath. “My brother, Coran and I – we understand better than anyone how much you must want to go home, but you _must_ understand that the responsibility of being a Paladin comes first and foremost. Your planet, as well as that of every planet in the entire cosmos, will never be truly safe until Zarkon has been stopped, so please try to be patient. We all must be _willing_ to sacrifice everything, if it is for the good of the universe.”

Various nods and murmured words of agreement followed, punctuated almost perfectly by the arrival of Coran through the doors behind the Altean siblings.

Shiro looked down at his cuff and pulled up a small map of the neighboring galaxies. “We shouldn’t linger longer than we have to. When is the soonest we can take off? And do either of you have a sense of where we might go next?”

“I was holding out for some sort of secondary contact from the Coalition before we tried to make a move,” Allura commented, and she glanced at Coran as if in confirmation. He shook his head gravely.

The Princess exhaled, unsurprised but still disappointed. “Because we have no way of telling if any of the Coalition headquarters have been compromised since... but, you’re absolutely right. The longer we stay on Arus, the more we welcome attacks like the ones we’ve just faced. The Blade and main Coalition lines have all been silent, which may be as much for our benefit as it is for their own. We’re endangering the Arusians; we don’t need to take the fight to Zarkon just this dobosh – we’ll need more time, and much more practice, before we can make an offensive attempt – but we can’t stay here. Not at the expense of others.”

“I’d say we should aim for first thing in the morning,” Coran added, “after the celebration with the Arusians.”

A chorus of groans followed, and Lance scowled around at them. “What, do you humans not like _parties_? Is there anything your lot actually _does_ like?”

“It’s – it’s not that,” Shiro began, scratching the back of his neck. “It just seems like… inopportune timing? If every hour – er, _varga_ – really does count, should we really be spending our time like this?”

“Hey, _you_ all might be common rabble,” the Prince waved a flippant hand, “but there’s a _way_ these things have to work. Especially if we used a planet’s resources and put it in danger; Arus had been a mostly neutral force during the war, and we basically forced it to align with us when they agreed to act as a impartial host for the castle and the Black Lion during the peace accord. They only accepted in the first place because of the expectation that the war was about to _end_ , not get a million times worse. This is the least we can do to thank them.” Lance crooked a smile as he examined his less-than-thrilled audience. “Plus, you guys _won_! That’s pretty exciting, right?”

A room of silent, blank stares looked back at him. Allura couldn’t help the small smile that inched onto her expression, rolling her eyes as she stood up and ruffled his hair, _just_ enough to disturb his neat ponytail.

“Hey!” he complained, and she just chuckled. Pushing his buttons had always been one of her favorite pastimes.

“While my brother may be a bit more _enthusiastic_ than I would be over the prospect of a party, he is correct that it is customary to invite the ruling entities of planet together if they’ve accepted joining the Voltron Coalition. We must do this as a demonstration to Arus, not only of our appreciation, but that there remains strength and tradition in spite of the loss of Altea. We must show the universe that the loss of our planet does not mean loss of the war, and the best way to do that is to maintain proper customs.”

Coran nodded astutely. “Well said! Now, if we’re to have time to get you through a day’s training and sufficient time to clean yourselves up for a party, we’d better get started. Meet at the training deck in about 10 dobosh, everyone!”

Once they reconvened in the training room, Shiro began to run through the plan for the day while the other paladins stretched or began to ready their bayards. Lance was already tuning him out since literally none of it impacted him in any capacity, already aware that he’d be standing up with Coran in the room overlooking rather than participating, but his attention was piqued once again when the Black Paladin’s voice took on a strange affect, pitched almost with concern rather than stern direction.

“Wait, has anyone seen Pidge?”

The team paused whatever they were doing, gazing around at each other.

Huh. The Green Paladin was nowhere to be seen.

“Would someone go find her, make sure everything’s okay?” Shiro suggested after a moment of silence, and Keith very-politely volunteered Lance to go.

“How about Prince Lazy?”

The Altean wrinkled his nose. “I take offense to that, you know.”

“It was _supposed_ to be offensive,” Keith shrugged as he continued to stretch.

“Oh quiznak you –”

“ _Lance_ ,” warned Allura, and the Prince groaned before spinning around and trudging down the hallway, letting his feet and intuition be his guide, following the thread that tugged at Green’s quintessence in the complicated interwoven layers of his spirit.

 _Green_.

Green was clever, habitually focused, and strategic. She was insightful and hardworking, driven towards a goal, unwaveringly so.

That said, the resonance he felt reflected back onto his pursuit of Green had him a bit on edge; her usual liveliness was… dampened, somehow, like a gray storm cloud had moved over the warm horizon over a treeline.

That sense pulsed in time with his footsteps, drawing him down a hallway, and then another, not consciously realizing he was heading towards the paladin’s quarters until he stopped in front of the door to Pidge’s room.

No light bled out from beneath the door, and he _knew_ her room was locked upon approaching – another one of those weird intuitions that came with being spiritually tied up in the quintessence of the castleship. Evidently, not only did Prince Lance not need to make an effort to open doors for himself, he could also sense when they were _unwilling_ to open for him, as was the case now.

“Um, Pidge?” he began. “The others are about to start training. Are you ready?”

Silence.

“ _Pidge_?” Lance decided to knock this time. Had she gone back to sleep? There’d been bags under her eyes at breakfast. “I know you’re in there, if you’re hoping I’m just going to go away or something. I can literally _sense_ you.”

After another few ticks, a grumbling came from the other side of the door. “Just a second, I’m almost... let me just… _ugh_ , what the hell, man?!”

Involuntarily, Lance had unlocked the door, and he blinked at the sudden darkness, his own figure casting a shadow into the room overtop the rectangular light spilling in from the hallway. The Green Paladin was sitting on the floor, squinting and covering her eyes as her body angled towards the Prince, turned away from the screen of her computer.

“Err, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” Lance raised a brow, examining the metal frame as he led himself in anyway. “I’m still trying to figure out how to get the castle to listen to me consciously instead of subconsciously. I _did_ want in, though, so I guess that’s that.”

“That’s… annoying,” she said slowly, eyes slowly adjusting to the sudden invasion of light in her dark room. “Sorry, I got caught up with this code. Henna – was that the Theban’s name? They seemed like they might have seen my brother at some point, and I was trying to cross what they said against the records we managed to pull from Sendak’s ship.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Lips pursed, Lance studied the sad state of Pidge’s room. bed amess and clothes strewn about, all the while Rover beeping and floating around with a sock thrown over him. At least she had changed into her armor, but the rest of her belongings were strewn about headlessly, bed and sheets amess. Even Rover was beeping listlessly, a sock tossed over its “eye.”

“Well… the code isn’t going anywhere, and it’s time to train, sooo... Could help to clear your head a bit?”

The human glanced to the screen and down then at her lap, where her fists were both clenched tightly.

“I know, I got carried away... Sorry, I just – I can’t stop thinking about Matt and my Dad every second. I just wish I had more information, and if I could just look at this a little _longer_ I bet I could at least find where Matt’s last known –”

“What is Matt like?” Lance interrupted, leaning in the doorframe with his arms crossed.

An annoyed look flashed across the girl’s face for the interruption, but it faded almost as quickly as it had come. “He was… well, a total fucking moron. Super smart and stuff, that’s why he got to go to Kerberos with Shiro and my Dad in the first place, but god was he the best sort of lame. An absolute memelord, garbage excuse of a human being.”

Pidge was smiling by the end, and Lance took a few steps forward, offering to help her stand. “Come on, tell me about him while we go catch up with the others?”

She sighed, accepting, and they set off for the training room while Lance listened to the paladin recount different details of her brother, each one a strange mixture of admiring and insulting.

 

* * *

 

Training for the afternoon was nearly over. Shiro and Keith had both outperformed all the other paladins in terms of intensity, but the entire team managed to successfully achieve three consecutive wins against the battle drone, each at their respective levels of difficulty. Lance had started by watching and giving feedback with Coran in the room overlooking the deck, but he tired of that quickly and, once Coran left to start preparations for the celebration, Lance moved down to the main floor to get a closer look.

Shiro, having finished first, came over to join the Prince in observing the training. At first, the two shared only small comments on the performance and form of the team, but that quickly devolved – as most of Lance’s conversations did – into a proper conversation. After finishing an explanation of his home “country,” a place called _Japan_ , Lance couldn’t help but marvel at the, frankly, _staggering_ diversity of Earth. It wasn’t unheard of for other planets to have rich cultures, but the Altean Prince had never heard of a place with so many distinct languages and states, all autonomous while sharing the same planet.

“But I thought Coran said you know over _six hundred_ languages?” Shiro remarked, correcting his own assumption for thinking _he_ was impressive for knowing _three_.

“Well, that’s fluently.” Lance grinned. “I had to learn just shy of two thousand, but a lot of that is pretty… choppy. I’m not nearly as good as Allura, _she’s_ the diplomat. She’s got all two thousand down solid, and then probably another five or six hundred roughly.”

“Wow. Maybe humans are just bad at picking up language,” he hummed. “You and your sister and Coran are all really impressive.”

Thinking of their earlier conversation in the lounge, Lance frowned. “I’m sorry we’re not going to be able to go to your Earth soon, I’d like to experience it. Most planets aren’t like Earth, all your different states and governments. Planetary monarchies are more common than… I don’t even know how to describe _Earth_. Sounds fascinating.” Lance looked sidelong at the Black Paladin, expecting some sort of agreeing nod or smile, but was surprised to see a sudden pinch in his brow, a darkness casted over his eyes, replacing their usual easy-going shine.

“S-Sorry, did I speak out of turn?”

“What?” Shiro blinked twice before shaking his head. “Oh, oh no. I was just thinking about Earth, nostalgia, I suppose. But like Keith said though, our mission is more important. There’s just unfinished business I would have liked to… but that’s not your problem, sorry.”

“No, no!” Lance held his hands up. “You can talk about Earth if you want to. Just because I miss Altea doesn’t mean you guys have to act like you _don’t_ miss your families.”

“I… thank you, Lance. That actually is really nice to hear.”

Shiro smiled, thoughtful for a moment. “I was just thinking about my fiancé, actually. Well, ex-fiancé, I guess. It’s sort of a mess. I was engaged to a man named Adam before Kerberos, I lived with him and Keith and then, ah, I don’t know. I suppose I just hope we do manage to get home in enough time for me to apologize. If not to make amends with him, to at least apologize. He deserves that much.”

“Oh, I had… I had no idea. I’m sorry, I guess I just assumed you were all – I guess, _unattached_?”

That made the man laugh, and Lance’s expression turned sheepish, but before he had the chance to speak again Shiro had looked up to see the remaining paladins wrapping up. Lance followed his gaze, spotting his sister, Pidge, Keith, and Hunk all standing and chatting on the far side of the training deck, helmets off and all basking in different degrees of the sweaty-but-accomplished afterglow that accompanied a successful session of training.

When it looked like Shiro was about to call out to gather their attention, Lance quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“Wait, wait – Shiro, just a sec. I meant to ask… or, well, _talk_ to you about something. Sorry, if this is random, there’s just not really been a good time... Did Xi or any of the other prisoners seem, like, _off_ to you when you rescued them from Sendak’s ship?”

The paladin frowned, looking upward as he sorted through some of the rush of the first mission in his head. “I guess, I don’t know – they seemed absolutely _terrified_ , if I’m honest, but I figured that wasn’t _abnormal_ for prisoners.”

“And…” Lance crossed his arms, focused on scuffing his shoe against a nonexistent piece of dirt rather than meet the man’s gaze. “Do you remember what _you_ were like as a prisoner?”

“As a… well…” His voice faded off, and Lance felt a twist of guilt in his stomach, but remained quiet, giving Shiro the opportunity to explain himself.

When his words returned, the Black Paladin seemed a bit more remorseful than their earlier conversation, but no less earnest. “I guess, bits and pieces. That fight with the Robeast knocked some memories around. I’m… not really sure about a lot of it. I remember when Matt, Sam – Pidge’s father – and I got captured, and then separated again. I remember…” he paused, and Lance looked up against his better judgement and saw him gazing over his hand and arm, his expression the image of pain in their momentary silence. “I remember less after I got this. I don’t think I was myself, back then. There was a lot that the – druids did. I’m not sure who I was back then.”

The man hung his head, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and Lance wanted to punch himself for bringing up the subject – Shiro had sounded so happy just moments before, but… but he knew this conversation was important.

They _had_ to be honest with each other, no matter the personal consequences.

Ducking his head and posture, Lance lowered himself so Shiro would be forced to catch his eye. A distinctive shine lined the corners of the humans’ black gaze, and the Prince tried to wear his most understanding smile.

“Hey, it’s okay.” A bit hesitant, he rested a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, where the prosthetic met the curve of the Black Paladin’s shoulder guard. My sister and I – we know what Galra imprisonment can do to people. As much as I wish I _didn’t_ know from what we’ve seen, there are always going to sides of us no one wants to see, things anyone would do when put in desperate situations.”

Taking his hand back once he saw Shiro’s brow unpinch, even if it was only a small amount, Lance cleared his throat and, defaulting to a nervous habit, began to fix his ponytail.

“I didn’t want to bring it up to make you upset or anything, you know? I guess, I just wanted to ask, because the prisoners seemed pretty sure that they’d seen you before… in Zarkon’s arena. In fact, the name they called you. _The Champion..._ Allura and Coran and I had actually _heard_ of you. There was rumors of an alien – well, alien to us anyway – that matched your description, that never lost a match no matter who was put up against him. I don’t care if you were, for the record, and I know Allura wouldn’t either, but I haven’t mentioned this to anyone yet.”

Lance sighed, a heavy sound collapsing out of him; this conversation was not just uncomfortable, but deeply _personal_ , and it made every word that much harder than it had to be.

As such, the Prince swallowed his nerves and kept going. “Hunk was there when Xi first called you by that title, and he seemed confused, so I thought it might come up again. But they all – the prisoners, I mean – they all agreed to give Voltron another chance, and give you the benefit of the doubt, after they saw you guys take down the Robeast. I didn’t ask them _not_ to bring it up at breakfast, I figured that was up to them, but I’m glad they didn’t… I guess, I don’t know, I wanted you to know about it from a –” he paused, only for heartbeat, but felt no qualms using the word that had been on the tip of his tongue and kept going, “– a friend, rather than having it sprung on you unexpectedly.”

The man’s eyes, which had widened during the Prince’s explanation, slid shut once Lance finished speaking. He inhaled twice through his nose, deeply, to the point that the breaths filled his chest and even caused his uniquely sable quintessence, a flavor that Lance was beginning to get used to in the distinctly somber but accepting, _forgiving_ , to flutter at the edges of the Prince’s senses like a cloak of ebony, billowing in textures of velvet on a windy day.

When he opened his eyes, however, the wind had calmed, the storm settled, and the familiar warmth in the Black Paladin’s expression had returned.

“Thank you for telling me. I guess, as I remember more, it’ll be important for me to know what mistakes I might have made… Adam used to tell me, actually, that I was an idiot for not learning from my mistakes, pushing myself on and on and on.” The man paused, laughing without humor as his arms uncrossed. He kept his prosthetic out in front of him, palm facing up, examining it like one might a suspicious criminal. “I didn’t make time for him, and I loved him, and I have lost him. While I might not see him for a long time, or ever again, I’m not going to do that again. I need to make time to fix my mistakes. I… remember parts of the arena, and if I was… this… _Champion_ … then I know what I have to do to make things right. And that starts here, now. With our mission.”

He met Lance’s gaze on his own, at last, lowering the arm engineered for him by the Galra, a strange sort of mutual acceptance in the moment of shared silence. After all, while their differences outweighed their similarities, there were some universal truths that bound them together – foremost, they’d both lost people they loved. Shiro had his arm taken, and Lance had lost his home. Brought together by the consequences of their mutual loss, it was, while admittedly not ideal, a sort of bond that was inexpressibly _powerful_. A tangible thing, absence was pressing in the way it suffused empty spaces and caught on the syllables of all the words left unsaid.

In the way that only to hurt could manifest, Black Paladin and Overseer felt a little more understanding, a bit closer for having shared a twist in time and fate that landed them here. It was the same line of golden thread that wove all of them into this tumultuous reality, together. A desire to fix what the universe left broken, to answer a call asking them to give back, to restore hope.

 _Voltron_.

“...yeah, that sounds about right. Hey, Shiro,” Pidge was in the middle of saying something to Hunk when the other paladins began to join them on the side of the training deck, and Shiro and Lance both shared a final glance before turning to the others. “What’s the plan now?”

Shiro cleared his throat and looked around at the paladins.

“Ah, good. Actually, we’re going to finish for the day so that there’s enough time to help Coran prepare for the party... I’m going to defer to the Prince and Princess for this, since this is their area of expertise. Is there anything we should keep in mind as far as the party goes?”

“Excellent question, Shiro.” Allura nodded, helmet resting on her hip, some hair stuck to her forehead, damp with sweat, twisting back into her natural curls. “Yes, Coran shared with me that our guests will be putting on an… _opening ceremony_ of sorts for Lance and myself, and in the meantime, I would ask that each of you try your best to be social with the Arusians. It is particularly important that they see Voltron as both grateful for their help and as allies in the future, so, whatever that entails, please try to be hospitable. Lance and I will likely take turns ‘managing’ their Chieftain, as he’ll want to speak both our ears off. Otherwise, have fun and enjoy yourselves!”

Pidge muttered something, and Keith scoffed, but no one asked they elaborate – with those two, it was sometimes better just not to ask.

“Coran is waiting for us in the main hall, I thought we all might help him to set up before we all head off to wash or begin getting ourselves ready.” The Princess cast a look at her brother in particular, who rolled his eyes. “And when I say _all_ , I mean _everyone_ should help.”

“And what exactly are you implying?” he pointed his chin high while turning around, leading the way out of the training deck and down the hallway.

Cooly, the shorter Altean caught up with him, matching his stride with ease. “That you’re a lazy lump most of the time.”

“As the pilot of this ship, I should have you thrown in the brig,” he snarked right back, a loud series of footfalls trailing behind them as the paladins caught up, at least a few of them laughing at their bickering.

“We don’t even have a _brig_ , Lance.”

“Oh, don’t we?” He raised a knowing brow, and then, without skipping a beat, dug his heel into the ground at the next corner. Seeing as he had little to do the past few quintant but study the ship, Prince Lance was confident that he knew far more than his sister – being spiritually tied to the quintessence of the ship certainly didn’t hurt, either.

The small divot in the floor, invisible unless you knew where to look for it, revealed a completely seamless door in the middle of the left hand wall. It was, in fact, just a storage closet, but the Princess came to an abrupt halt, jaw dropping.

“What the –?! ”

“ _The brig!_ ” Lance repeated, pointing, but repeated the same action to hide the door again before anyone could actually see the inside. The intended effect – impressing his sister, just a little – seemed to have worked at least.

Huffing, the Princess crossed her arms and continued to march down the hallway, footsteps loud as they came up to the main hallway. Lance practically skipped the rest of the way after her.

The mirth was all short-lived, of course, because Coran was standing poised in the center of the central hallway, scanning a small screen with what looked like a checklist displayed over the front of it.

“Ah, perfect timing, paladins! I needed some extra hands, if you wouldn’t mind – Hunk and Keith, if you could start over there…”

For another varga or so, the paladins worked together under Coran’s beck-and-call to help rearrange some of the decor, clean and sweep the castle steps, brush away the dust that had just begun to settle. That, the Princess had pointed out, was a sign if there ever was one that they’d overstayed their time on Arus.

And Lance, for the record, did successfully manage to skirt _most_ of his responsibilities, brushing them off onto Keith or Shiro – they were both so _tall_ and _strong_ , he bemoaned, and were better equipped to do any of the tasks Coran tried to force on him. (If the Prince _forgot_ to mention that Alteans were, in fact, deceptively strong, and could lift objects much larger than the size of their bodies proportionally, well… that’s not his problem.)

It was during one these spells of – not _laziness_ , per say, but _willful avoidance_ – that the Prince and Pidge picked up their earlier conversation on the subject of Earth culture.

Head tilted to the side, Prince Lance examined the empty canister in his hand. It was sturdy, wrought from refined Altean ore, so he knew it wasn’t going to break or anything. The concept _seemed_ fun, but he would be lying if he said he completely understood the point of the whole thing.

He glanced over at Pidge, whose expression remained perfectly stoic. “Do I wait for it to land, or do I just say it when I throw it?”

“Just throw it and say it at the same time,” she instructed, lips pursed; she appeared to be having a difficult time keeping herself from smiling. “Hunk will love you. Keith will pretend it’s not funny, but he’ll secretly find it hilarious. Shiro and your sister _definitely_ won’t get it, but that just makes it funnier.”

“Got it.”

He took a deep breath, pulled his arm back and threw the cup with as much force as he could.

“ _YEET!_ ”

Pidge was already cackling before it even cleared the length of the main hall, and Lance was preparing to laugh at his sisters confusion when it would inevitably crash against the metal floors, grinning widely as he followed the arc of the apparatus as it fell near the others.

What Prince Lance _not_ accounted for was his own impeccable aim.

 _“Ow!_ What the _fuck_?!”

He, uh, may have hit Keith.

On the head.

“Oh– OH my _god_ , **_run_** _!_ ” Pidge shoved him towards the door at the same moment that a pair of incredibly hostile, yellow Galra eyes flashed to him. It was that moment in which Lance remembered that – _holy shit holy shit holy shit_ – Keith was known to have a _bit_ of a temper, and not wanting to meet a violent, bloody end, the Prince scrambled towards the doors and began to positively _sprint_ down the hallways, running as fast as he possibly could away from the training deck.

Nearly bowling into Coran, Lance swiftly side-stepped the man and kept going.

“What the – your Highness?!” the older Altean called, bewildered.

Lance shouted over his shoulder, “Sorry, Coran! Satan is chasing me!”

“ _Who_?!”

About to call over his shoulder _it’s an Earth thing_ , Lance felt his heart skip a beat at a distinctive growl.

“ _Get back here you stupid fucking Prince!”_

 _“_ AH! Quiznak, uhhh –”

Lance made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder, spotting the murder in Keith’s eyes. He let out an embarrassing little _eep_ at the sight and immediately turned at the next corner, making a beeline for his room at the other end of the corridor. Of course, the Red Paladin had already nearly caught up with him, what with his stupid Galra genetics unfairly enabling him to clear the length of hallways without so much as batting an eye.

“ _Pidge told me to do it, I swear!”_ Lance shouted the half-hearted apology, but if the loud clanging of Keith’s paladin armor was any indication, he was in fact gaining on the Prince, rather than forgiving him.

_Only a little further…_

Lance leapt the last few paces through open door to his bedchamber, and he didn’t bother to reach for the button to trigger the door to close; small mercy that the castle had started to learn to work in tandem with his consciousness, as it had already begun to close the moment the Prince was safely over the threshold.

“ _Hah!_ ” He did a small cheer at the sound of a grunt on the other side of the door, not that Keith could see. “Take _that_ , Fuzzy!”

Lance’s celebration was short-lived when a clawed hand shot between the crack in the door, and he heard the mechanism whirring in protest to the intrusion preventing the metal from sliding closed.

Trying in vain to push Keith’s hand out of the opening, the moment Lance’s fingers were in harm's way, the door slid apart – curse the overly-intuitive ship, trying to protect his beautiful fingers only to write his death sentence.

“Nooooooo!” the Prince’s voice turned especially shrill in playful panic, and in a slapdash attempt at escape, along with a lightning-quick grip on Keith’s part and uncoordinated legs and lots of pushing and complaints, the two sort of argue-shoved each other around Lance’s room.

Ultimately, Galra strength won out, even if Lance’s lithe frame helped plenty with evasion. Eventually, however, the Prince was cornered, his back hitting the wall.

“ _What_ –”  Keith slammed his hands on either side of the Altean’s head, “ _the fuck_ –” his breathing was labored, something between a smirk and a grimace twisting his expression, “is _wrong_ with you?!”

Lance laughed at the Red Paladin’s apparent anger, unable to resist the urge as a glittering fusion of amusement and adrenaline bubbled up his throat. And, okay, _maybe_ it was tinged with just a _bit_ of nerves on Prince Lance’s part – it’s not like it was an everyday occurrence that a breathless Keith pinned him to the wall. (Though if it _did_ become a daily thing, you certainly wouldn’t hear _him_ complaining.) This was the closest he’d ever been to Keith’s face, too, and he noticed properly for the first time that the hybrid had a pair of pointed, flashing fangs, of which Lance was _certain_ he was not supposed to find nearly as attractive as he did. They were fantastically sharp, and the sight of them sent a strange thrill up his spine that spoke of _danger_ – he really had a really quiznaked set of survival instincts, didn’t he?

He’d not stopped laughing, which only served to make Keith even more annoyed, causing his ears to begin flicking back and forth. This, of course, only made the Prince laugh even harder.

“Oh my stars,” he covered his mouth with a hand to try to stop his giggles. “ _Your ears_!”

“S-Shut up!” Keith’s purple complex took on a warm plum shade, clearly embarrassed by the reflex. “What kind of person just _hits_ someone and then _runs away_? And then _makes fun of them?!_ ”

Breathless – from laughter or running or being pinned to the wall by a not-so-bad-looking hybrid, who was really to say? – Lance tilted his head back, chest rising and falling rapidly. He raised his hands between them and lightly shoved Keith away, doing a dismissive gesturing before sliding down to rest on the plush carpet.

“Alright, alright, I’m _sorry_ about hitting you, Fuzzy.” He grinned up at him through his slightly tousled bangs. “I was _trying_ to _meme_ , according to Pidge, but your big quiznaking head got in the way.”

“That’s not – _ugh_.” Keith sounded angry for all of two ticks, but stopped when he realized Lance was trying to bait him. His lip twitched, conflicted as to whether to he should curse out the smartass, or laugh at the very idea of graceful, almost elvish aliens trying to _meme_ anything.

In the end, Keith found he couldn’t bring himself to do either, though it might have been what Lance deserved. The dumb, pretty Altean with his stupid, twinkling blue eyes that danced when he laughed, and the stupid scales the edge of his cheekbones that shimmered lightly with the sound – the sight was just too _damning_ when put together.

Still trying to catch his breath properly, Keith turned his back to meet the wall next to the Prince and groaned as he slid down, armor meeting metal flooring with a clang.

“You are _really_ something else, you know that?”

“I do,” the Prince hummed, his own heart still buzzing in his chest from the chase. “That’s what everyone used to yell at me when they would chase me in fact, I used to run up and down these halls, just like that when I was young. It’s been… a long time.”

“Oh.” Keith coughed, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “I’m… um, sorry?”

Another small laugh fell from the Prince’s lip, finding shape around a sigh. “No, don’t be. That was... fun. It’s nice to feel _alive_ every once and awhile. The ship is so big, and with the war, and well, _everything…_ I hate having to be so responsible. You didn’t know us before, but Allura and I weren’t always like this. It just… this felt good. Like I could breathe again.”

There was a brief pause, both regaining their breaths as they sat against the wall. The castle was intensely quiet, and, even though they’d only cleared about half of the length in their running around, there was no sound whatsoever. No slight whirring of tech or voices to cushion the silence with background chatter. Nothing. The Red Paladin could hear his own heartbeat, loudly in his chest, and even a faint impression of the Prince’s, hummingbird-quick but slowly falling to a regular pace.

“Do you... normally feel like you can’t breathe?” Keith asked, trying to keep his tone light and noncommittal. He didn’t know if the Prince would feel comfortable talking to him about something like this, but Shiro had mentioned that they should make more of an effort to try to get along.

Beside him, the Altean lightly _thunked_ his head against the wall, just once.

“No, I guess that’s not exactly right,” Lance replied eventually, pulling his knees up to his chest. “It’s... almost the opposite? That’s probably confusing. I just – I’m so tired of being careful and composed and sitting and waiting. Everything is _deep breath in_ , _deep breath out_ for me, now. And, this? This was… well, so _stupid_ ,” he chuckled, grin widening when he heard Keith join in. “And it was just nice to _be_ stupid. For something to _not_ matter for once. Does that make sense?”

Keith nodded, “Yeah.”

Lance wasn’t sure why – maybe it was the sudden loss of adrenaline compounded with the mounting stress, or perhaps it was a product of the simple quiet of the surrounding castle, but he actually felt really grateful for Keith’s company.

Biting his lip, Lance hesitantly decided to keep talking.

“I was just so... _ready_ to pilot the Blue Lion, you know? Ready to fight with the blue bayard!” He made a fist and puffed out his chest, but flopped back after a second. “I always thought I’d get to rush through my – my _everything,_ feelings, thoughts, problems – by doing tricks in the air or sniping down drones or shooting ice beams from Blue’s mouth. I wouldn’t have to wait for you guys to come back. I’m not exactly the model image of patience, you know?”

Keith crossed his legs, leaning back into the wall as he chuckled. “For what it’s worth, I’m definitely not either. I almost got kicked out of school back on Earth because I punched a teacher.”

“That sounds like you,” Lance replied, shooting the Galra-hybrid a sly smile.

“Bold words coming from the guy who just threw a cup at my head and ran away.”

“Hey, I already apologized! What more do you want from me?” Hands thrown up, Lance could do little else but beam when Keith began to laugh in earnest; he’d nearly forgotten how nice it was to hear Keith’s laugh.

It was strange, too, because in tandem with the sound was the smoldering warmth of the Red Paladin’s quintessence, stoked to a small, crackling fire. It reminded him of a bright day on Altean, the air sweet and sun-warmed as it filled his chest, breathing out giggles as he teased Allura or stalked after Coran, sought out Nan-Nan or one of his friends. Mother was almost always outside on a nice day, insisted their meetings be rearranged despite the inconvenience because there was nothing more soothing to her then Altean summertime.

Sighing, Lance at least managed to smile when that same impression of warmth was accented by the sound of a full, loud laugh, one he seldom heard from the hybrid; it was sort of gruff and unpracticed, but simple and pure at the same time – something akin to the way a child’s eyes would light up when they saw something for the first time, no matter how commonplace. That ability to wonder at the ceaselessly mundane, it was adorable, something special, rare for Altea after their planet had seen nothing but war for so many decaphoebs.

Any of the Prince’s remaining adrenaline drained out with the quiet pause, replaced instead by a fluttery sort of warmth, hot like burst of air from a open-fire breeze that burned him all the way to his cheeks.

All-too-aware of his eye scales, now aglow, Lance forced himself to get a grip and snapped his head forward again.

“A-Anyway,” he stretched his legs out in front of him, swaying his feet back and forth. “I guess, I just never expected I would have to sit and wait and wait and _wait._ I wasn’t ready for _this_ –” pausing, he knocked his knuckles back against the hollow metal walls, “I was never prepared to have to _worry_. Worry that I was sending you all off to die everytime you headed to the hangars – which is silly, I know, since in the reverse scenario _I’d_ be heading off to the hangars with you? But it’s just not the same. Watching and waiting is an entirely different thing than being out there, fighting. It’s like holding my breath underwater, and only when you guys get back can I breathe again, but even then it’s fast and short – like this was, you know?” Lance motioned between them, referring to their sprint around the castle. “That was, well, desperate, and not exactly _refreshing_ , but at least there wasn’t anything at _stake_. It’s not like I was going to drown when you caught me… It’s not like people were going to die. That’s how breathing should feel. Breathing isn’t supposed to feel like this,” he moved a hand to his own chest, over the golden-lined _V_ that emblazoned his uniform, “ _all_ the time.”

Keith watched, a pinch in his brow as the Altean’s hand eventually fell away. Judging from the way his eyes were narrowed at the ground, Keith guessed Lance was done speaking, but part of him wished he’d kept talking because he honestly had no idea what to say. This was more Shiro or Adam’s territory, really – offering comfort was as foreign to him as Altean language in the first place.

It wasn’t until the silence stretched to the point of awkwardness that Keith finally swallowed his nerves, threading together something he hoped didn’t sound stupid.

“I… guess that makes sense. Feeling that way, I mean. You’re only seventeen ye– _decaphoebs_ old, right?”

“Mm.”

“Then, you know, there’s no feasible way you can to feel responsible for everything _, all_ the time. Er – there’s no way you can _manage_ that kind of stress. Not to say you _can’t_ manage stuff but, ugh – what I mean is, I’m _seventeen_ decaphoebs old, and this all stresses _me_ out, and I didn’t lose or go through half as much shit as you. You don’t have to feel bad for wanting to take breaks every now and then. I know we don’t get _real_ breaks, being Defenders of the Universe and all, and that means the weight of this doesn’t really go away… but, that also doesn’t mean you have to try to bare it all on your own, you know? When I’m out there, I feel _terrified_ that I’m not supposed to be doing any of this – I mean, I’m _Galra_ ,” he huffed, gesturing his arms and legs, ears twitching.

Lance’s eye followed the movement and he grinned, sheepish.

“But being able to form Voltron makes it really feel like I don’t have to be afraid since we’re working together, if that makes sense? And I guess… it’s not like any of us wanted this fate, right? But we’re here. You’re the pilot of the Castle of Lions, not the Blue Lion, but your just as much a part of the team. I’m pretty sure Allura would’ve murdered me on the spot if you hadn’t stood up to her when we all first got here. So let yourself breathe, and if you can’t do that when we’re forming Voltron, then at least do it while we’re all here together. Okay?”

Lance smiled, and this time, it didn’t feel quite as stiff, quite as hauntingly familiar but painfully wrong. It was a genuine smile, almost edged by tears. Quiznak, he always was the sensitive one, wasn’t he?

Unwilling to cry, however, Lance sniffed and decided to go for a joke.

“Does that mean I can throw stuff at you whenever I want?”

“ _No_.” Keith ran a hand down his face, and the Prince barely began to laugh before Keith started to pull himself to his feet.

“We should get back. Like I said, I’m still not wholly convinced your sister isn’t looking for the chance to lash me with her bayard, and I don’t want to give her any excuses.”

Grinning, perhaps just a bit like a fool, Lance agreed and got to his feet as well, the two quickly maneuvering their way across the castle, back to where they’d abandoned the others.

It seemed they weren’t a moment too soon, either, because as they turned the corner that opened to the main hallway, the remaining paladins and Coran were gathered in a small huddle, talking amongst themselves.

Shiro spotted them first, blinking owlishly.

“Wow, your Highness, it’s nice to see you survived. I thought for sure Keith was going to –”

“Shut up old man,” Keith interrupted harshly, joining their semi-circle best the Black Paladin.

Allura looked at both Prince and Red Paladin scoldingly, eyes sharp and suspicious. “I’m glad you both could join us after we _finished_ the rest of the preparations. I was just about to send someone to track you down – we’ve only got a few more varga until the party.”

“Welp.” Lance clapped his hands together, smiling breezily at his sister. “If any of you need me, tough luck! I’ll be getting ready, and I won’t be bothered while I do.”

“Oh, but the party isn’t for three more hours?” Hunk said it like a question, looking to Allura, who affirmed the time.

Lance scoffed. “ _Did I stutter?_ Plebeians.”

Pidge fixed her glasses, a mixture of apprehension and amusement furrowing her brow. She leaned towards the Princess, stage whispering, “He’s joking, right?”

Allura had never looked more serious when she replied, “While my brother may joke about many things, his appearance is not one of them.”

“Hey, being pretty doesn’t come easy,” he waved a dismissive hand, already turning back down the hall and headed towards his chambers. “See you at the party!”


	9. Celebration of Change (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's definitely not Feeling Things™, Pidge is trying to figure out her priorities, the Princess is trying to open up to her team, and Coran reflects.

Keith found the the entire concept of exaggeration sort of dumb.

Generally speaking, he had never really seen much point for hyperboles or superlatives. A man of few words, the Red Paladin had always found the whole thing a bit theatrical. Senseless were the people who used _best_ , _most_ , or _literally_ excessively: it’s not like there was ever really a place with the _best pizza_ , because everywhere said they had the _best_ pizza; no one who graduated the Garrison really had the _best smile_ or the _best laugh_ , because that shit was subjective; there was no way to be _literally_ dead on your feet, unless you were a zombie.

If you say something, say it exactly the way it was; if you feel a certain way, you feel a certain way.

Plain and simple.

That being said, Prince Lance was, without a doubt, the absolute most frustratingly pretty person he’d ever laid eyes on.

_Fucking literally._

It really wasn’t fair, either, because the Altean didn’t even seem to _try_ most of the time. But, you know, _whatever_. Keith could get over it – the little flirtatious remarks and the general tilt to the Altean’s smile that had started to sneak into his thoughts when trying to fall asleep – that was just Lance’s personality and simple, base rate attractiveness that was making Keith’s skin feel a little too tight, his blood a little warmer than was strictly necessary.

Keith was seventeen, so this was just… basic biology. Reacting to good looking people was natural and normal – no need to have a crisis just because of one nice-looking, flirtatious alien. It’s not like he’d never had a crush before, so Keith was certain he could handle keeping their relationship cordial without getting tongue-tied over Lance’s stupidly pretty face.

In fact, Keith was even _proud_ of himself. He’d thus far been doing a great job of ignoring all of his nervousness when the Prince was around, managing to make regular conversation and engage in a friendly way. There _was_ one ongoing issue, in which Keith was failing to punch down the urge to train harder when he knew Lance was watching, but even that wasn’t really a _bad_ thing. If anything, it only served to help make him a better member of the team.

So Keith was doing fine.

 _Fine_.

It wasn’t not like he had any _emotional_ investment in the situation, this big fucking disaster that was his stupid teenage-brain. It was all _just_ hormones. Lance was just pretty, because if Keith were to develop _feelings_ , that would make things entirely different – _emotions_ would make everything more complicated.

But then, the two shared a surprisingly honest conversation after running halfway around the castle, laughing, teasing, out of breath. Afterwards, Lance seemed a little less opaque, a little less like he was a has-it-all-together, flirts-with-whoever-he-wants, nothing-phases-me kind of guy. That had been a more vulnerable, softer, subtler version of the same Altean… and, now, Keith wasn’t so sure of himself and his ability to manage his impulse control – which was already pretty shitty.

So, let it suffice to say that Keith was on shaky ground after that encounter.

He forced himself to calm down with a shower, and, sighing as he re-dressed himself in his armor, studying his own lilac complexion and large, curving ears, the Red Paladin was resolved to himself that was simply going to have to try harder. Lance wasn’t – wasn’t _available_ to Keith in any capacity like that anyway, so why bother? Sure, the Prince flirted with him to the point where it was almost impossible for Keith to even understand what the hell was happening most of the time – was Lance just _like_ that? Was he genuinely complimenting him? Was he just fucking with him? – but it didn’t matter, Keith decided. He would steer clear of Lance for the remainder of the day, get a good night’s sleep, and be fine in the morning.

And then Lance showed up to the party (after getting into an awkward argument with his sister, because he was late enough that he missed the first half of the Arusian’s opening performance), and all of Keith’s resolve went right out the fucking window.

_Fuck, fuck fuck fuck._

If there was a God, he must have really had a fucked up sense of humor, because it seemed like his favorite pastime these days was making Keith look like a fool. For fuck’s sake, there were only Arusians here and the paladins – why did Lance have to go and make himself look so _nice_? Who was he trying to impress? What else could his appearance serve to accomplish but to drive the hybrid just a _little_ more insane?

And then, Keith couldn’t decide if it was crueler that the Prince was standing at the top of the stairs in the main hall of the Altean castle, because on the one hand, they were far enough apart that Keith could stare and probably not get caught, but at the same time, he was also so painfully _present_ in the room while so far away that it made Keith feel like he was suffocating.

The whole thing was just so, _so_ unfair.

Prince Lance hadn’t dressed any differently, though Keith did wonder if he freshened his clothes somehow – the whites seemed extra crisp and the golden accents particularly lustrous – and he did accessorize more than normal. Some mixture of chains and jewels hung unassumingly from his pointed ears, the colors of which, naturally, complemented his dark skin and burnished teal eye scales. The ponytail Keith had come to associate with the Prince was gone, replaced by loose, snowy tresses that softly framed his pointed features. He looked even more like his sister than normal as a result, the combination somehow highlighting some of the underlying softness in his expression – the slight slope of his nose, his flawlessly smooth complexion, the blinding brightness of his smile.

And then there was the narrow, yet subtle curvature, of his hips that made it hard for Keith to focus on anything at all, because –

Nope. _Nope nope nope._  
Keith was not going down that – _that_ path. Not that there was a path to go down. But, if there _was_ a path, Keith wasn’t going down it. No path-going-down whatsoever.

_Nope._

It wasn’t going to be a problem because he was just going to ignore the Prince entirely. As long as they stayed on exact opposite sides of the room at all times, and Keith faced away from him one-hundred percent of the time, there shouldn’t be any sort of issue.

All he had to do was avoid Lance and he’d be _fine._

The Arusians were concluded their weird, ritualistic performance stationed halfway up the stairs for the pair of Altean siblings, and the Princess begun clapping loudly, a proper applause following her lead. Keith latched onto the automatic reaction like a drowning man fighting for his last, PG-rated breath. His ears folded down in reaction to the sudden loudness, but it seemed the presentation had meant quite a lot to their diminutive host aliens, so for all the mutinuous thoughts that had snuck up on him during the length of the performance, Keith was grateful that Allura had insisted upon it. The reality of having all of these creatures not only respect him, but in fact _look up to him_ (metaphorically) was bizarre, but it became easier to accept with each passing day for all its strangeness.

After having flown Red a dozen times by now, formed Voltron twice, and connected – _ahem_ – with the Altean Prince, it was impossible for him to fathom fate having situated him anywhere else, no matter how unlike everyone else he sometimes felt.

This – _this_ was what he was meant to do.

A commotion up the stairs snapped Keith from his daydreaming, and he blinked up just to catch the start of a whole mess beginning to unfold. Lance had started to come down the steps with his sister close behind as the opening ceremony concluded, but the set of Arusians that had supposedly been acting like the Robeast in the somewhat crude reenactment lost their balance, and in poor attempt to right themselves, one of their short arms latched on the Prince’s cape and tugged with enough force to unbalance him.

So graceless it was actually impressive, the Prince staggered sideways and smacked his sister by accident, wacking her on the nose, and like bowling pins, the little Arusians went flying down the steps, and Lance was only a second behind them, flailing limbs tangling with hair, jewelry, cape, all crashing right into –

Well, Keith.

His open arms, to be specific.

_What the fuck I was supposed to stay as far away as possible shit oh my god what am I doing –_

In defense of the Red Paladin, he _really_ hadn’t meant to lurch forward to catch the Prince. In fact, he’d honestly rather have dropped dead than be stuck where he was now, but reflexes were reflexes. If anyone on the team suddenly started to fall and he was within range, Keith was certain he would have done the exact same thing, but it just so happened that in that particular moment, it was the one person on their team who also made his throat close up who had fallen.

Blue eyes turned up to him, blown wide in surprise and shock, curtains of hair falling over dark skin and a blush burning so bring that the Altean’s marks were faintly glowing, Lance gripped Keith’s arms tightly.

“Your Highness!” Klaizap was crawling up Keith’s leg, which only made the whole situation weirder, not halting in his ascent until he was perched on the hybrid’s shoulders. The room was awkwardly silent, Lance staring at Keith like he’d forgotten how to speak, blinking a few times once the Arusian warrior entered the picture. “Are you alright?! Say something! Has the Fuzzy One harmed you?”

“ _Stop calling me that!_ ” Keith snapped at Klaizap, who flinched.

“I’m... o-oh, yeah, I’m good. I’m good.” Clearing his throat, Lance pulled his weight up and pushed the hair from his face, adjusting his crown to sit flat over his forehead. “I – um.”

A pause, and Lance laughed, the sound a bit sharper and shorter than normal. “Nice catch, Fuzzy. Guess I’m falling for those ears of yours after all!”

Keith opened his mouth to try to say something, but closed it again.

They could find a new Red Paladin, right? There was no way he was going to even be able to survive the night, the cardiac arrest coming on stronger with each passing minute, so it only made sense to start planning for eventualities.

Barely a breath later, Princess Allura had vaulted her way down the steps, arms outstretched to brace her brother if he lost his balance again. “Oriande, Lance, are you alright? What happened? Are you feeling okay? Do you need to lie down?”

“You sound like Mother. I’m _fine_ , Sister.” Looking pointedly away from Keith, and everyone else, the Altean Prince seemed somewhere between flustered, furious, and embarrassed. “I just tripped. No need to make it a _thing_.”

“I – are you _sure_?” She insisted, this time with a bit of a quirk in her expression, lips almost turned into a smile. “You always were clumsy, but a fall like _that_? That’s a first.”

“ _Shut up!_ ” he angrily whispered back, squaring his shoulders before turning his attention to the watching audience. “I apologize for worrying you. I just lost my footing momentarily. Please, resume your conversations, enjoy yourselves!”

Without looking at either Allura or Keith, the Prince marched away, into the crowds of stocky aliens that failed to hide him but at least gave him a social escape. The Red and Blue Paladins both exchanged a wary glance, but Allura’s expression softened into a patient smile.

“Thank you for catching him. My Brother is a bit of a mess.”

“I – you’re…” Keith’s throat was drier than the desert that in which he’d spent the past two years hiding away. “W-welcome. I didn’t even think, just, uh, reacted.”

“Still, I appreciate it.” The young woman looked away for a moment, a sigh passing through her as the Prince was already beginning to loudly entertain an eager group of listeners. “I’d better go make sure he doesn’t continue to make a fool of himself.”

Keith scoffed, biting back the urge to joke that such a task was impossible – Allura was always happy to tease her brother, Keith had learned, but she was also fiercely protective of him and he pitied whoever insulted him to her face.

Instead, he settled on a bereft, “good luck,” watching as she sauntered after the Prince.

 

* * *

 

Pidge swirled the alien drink, “nunvil,” in her alien cup, leaning against the alien wall of the alien great hall surrounded by... aliens.

She breathed out a steady sigh through her nostrils.

It’s not that she was _homesick_ , not exactly. The earlier conversations she’d had with the other paladins reaffirmed for her the goliathan importance of their mission – they really _were_ the only ones who could pull something like this off, weren’t they? It was all just hitting her, she supposed. The grim reality that there were dozens of families in this very room, some of which had been torn apart in a much more violent fashion than her own. They _had_ to do this; this was their destiny. Magic or quintessence or whatever you want to ascribe it to, Pidge might not be able to calculate and measure and quantify the extent of her relationship with the Green Lion, but there was no denying the sense of _belonging_ she felt when seated at the controls. Like a sweater that was old and fit, worn in by years of use, or a pair of shoes that had all the scuff marks of her childhood impressed upon them, each scuff a memory. The Green Lion brought with it a rush of visceral, difficult to describe emotion, a vertiginous whirl of familiarity that felt borrowed and inherited at the same time.

More than anything, though, the dim green light of the cockpit felt of a sudden responsibility that was impossibly heavy. Like, really, _really_ heavy, like, _fate-of-the-universe-on-your-shoulders_ heavy.

So why couldn’t she stop fixating on her Dad and Matt? Why did standing here both feel like the most significant opportunity in the entire universe, and yet _still_ stung with guilt?

For the millionth time that day, perhaps the millionth time that _hour_ , the green paladin couldn’t help but wonder what had become of Matt and Dad. It felt impossibly fortunate that Shiro had been returned to them alive, even if he was one arm fewer for it. Would her family make it through whatever hell Shiro had been put through? Would Matt come back without his legs? Was her father _dead_?

Glancing up from her wobbling reflection in the purple drink, Pidge spotted Princess Allura laughing and entertaining a group of Arusians, Klaizap standing at her side like it was the greatest honor in the universe. The sight made her lip curl, like she’d tasted something sour; she found the Alteans... _alright_ , but they didn’t feel like royalty to her. They hardly felt like more than two young adults who were barely keeping it together – just like the rest of them, really.

Rover beeped twice in over her shoulder, and Pidge glanced to her left – they were working on commands, two beeps for an alert to her left, one to her right, three behind – and she fixed her expression with a smile upon spotting the Princess approach her.

“Hello, Pidge. Are you enjoying yourself?” the Altean greeted, her voice not lacking in warmth, but it did little to help the Green Paladin’s mood. She’d just been feeling off all day, distracted by her worries.

“Um, I’m good.”

Allura didn’t seem satisfied, frowning down at her cup. “Would you like a refill on your nunvil?”

“I meant to ask you about this stuff,” Pidge sniffed the cup doubtfully. “It smells like castor oil mixed with feet and alcohol. Are you sure it’s even safe for human consumption?”

“Oh, um...” Head cocked to the side, the Altean raised her brows down at her own smooth-sided cup, and then back up again to her fellow paladin. “I believe Hunk was using some of it when he made these tasty little tarts – those ones, there,” she pointed to a hovering tray that passed by, “and he didn’t seem concerned. So… it’s _probably_ fine?”

Huffing a disbelieving laugh, Pidge just continued to make the liquid in her cup slosh from side-to-side, rather than risk imbibing some weird alien toxic waste. Rover beeped three times in succession, which Pidge took to mean she may have made the right choice.

“But, uh, anyway, I’m good. Your brother really knows how to make an entrance,” she glanced around, brow furrowing when she realized the younger Altean was nowhere to be seen, not even oogling Keith from halfway across the hall or something. “Speaking of which, where is he?”

“Oh, Brother said he was going to check up on Hunk. A good idea, I think,” Allura hummed to herself, joining in Pidge’s people watching. “I haven’t seen our beloved Yellow Paladin all night.” Scratching her chin, Pidge thought to herself for a moment. “I was meaning to ask you or Coran or Lance about this, but that reminds me, do you guys have like, any medical books? Hunk had a minor panic attack about the whole menu thing earlier, and he’s taking it all _very_ seriously. Cooking is sort of his way to destress, but I think I’d like to see if there’s a way to make some kind of equivalent of our human medication for his anxiety. I also get really bad migraines sometimes, so having some kind of equivalent to ibuprofen might be useful later on.”

“Eye bee… pro-fin?” Allura blinked owlishly, shaking her long hair out after a moment. “Er, I mean, of course. If you all need medicine for anything, we’d be happy to help accomodate. Like I said, this isn’t supposed to feel like a prison or punishment. Lance and I were both schooled in the basics of alchemical healing growing up, but neither of us are experts. He’s probably better at it than I am, overall, anyway. But as far as creating something like a tablet or elixir that would be helpful in helping you all manage your day-to-day, there’s some texts I have that may help, and I imagine Coran would be able to provide some insight on the subject.”

Rover began beeping enthusiastically, and Pidge grinned up at the young woman. “Really? That’d be awesome, Princess. Thanks.”

“You’re most welcome.” Her responding smile was dazzling, almost so bright Pidge squinted. It was like looking at the sun, and not in a good way – in a _I’m blind that’s too bright_ way. “You can always ask any of us if you need anything to try to help make things more comfortable for you, alright? I know Lance has surely made a point that while we’re always happy to _talk_ , we can do a bit more than that. If you’d ever like access to the castle’s resources, you need only ask.”

There was an odd sort of upswing to the Altean’s voice, like she wasn’t entirely done talking but decided to give up halfway through a thought. As such, Pidge raised a brow and turned her gaze expectantly.

“What is it?” she questioned.

Coughing, the Princess laughed forcefully and scratched her neck. “Oh, what? Nothing! Nothing at all, I um – well. That’s not true,” she sighed, posture sagging slightly. “I suppose I just was feeling… well, I wanted to ask you something. I know you have a brother as well, though your’s is older, so the situations aren’t exactly the same… his name was Matt, is that right?”

An involuntary smile pulled at the corner of Pidge’s mouth, nodding. “Matthew _Mathematics_ Holt. Biggest nerd I know.”

The Princess chuckled, smiling at her own cup of nunvil, now empty. “ _Mathematics_? That’s quite a nickname. Anyway… I hope you’re not uncomfortable with me asking, I would have perhaps brought the subject to Keith or Shiro since the two of them are practically brothers, but it feels… well, different, speaking to another young woman. Does that make sense?”

“Two things. First of all, I totally get it, you can just, like, get to the point, Princess. I’m not going to judge. But I do want to say, I don’t really identify as a girl.”

“Well, alright – wait, what?” Allura’s neck snapped back as she turned, frowning at the human. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just assumed – have I been calling you the wrong words?”

Pidge cackled at the abruptness of her apology – on Earth, Pidge was lucky to get a muttered _sorry_ – and ultimately sighed as she pushed her glasses back up her nose.

“You’re _fine_ , oh god, it’s _not_ a big deal. I never said anything because I don’t really care, and I use she/her pronouns so it’s not like you could have known. I just prefer to identify as nonbinary, if I’m honest. I present as more feminine but I don’t really know how I identify, some mixture of guy and girl and whatever else. Figuring out, you know, how to form Voltron and defeat Zarkon and beat up villains seemed more important than correcting everyone on small language things.”

Allura, however, looked downright scandalized. “Are you – ?! _No,_ okay – I appreciate you telling me, and if you insist it isn’t a big deal I will let it go, _but_ you should _absolutely_ feel empowered to speak up if we are making you uncomfortable! I had no idea, and who knows how long we might be out here? If there’s any small changes I can make to help make you more comfortable, I would much rather you be upfront – even if it seems unimportant to scale, if it’s important to you, it should be important to the team, too.”

Perhaps a bit sheepish, Pidge agreed, grinned at the Princess’s fierce chagrin. “Alright, alright. I’ll say something about it at breakfast or something. But what did you want to talk about? It’s about your brother?”

“Ah, well – yes.” The Altean Princess pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, the model image of exasperation. “As you probably have noticed, Lance has a…”

The next words were left unheard, however, as the Princess’s voice was cut off by a sudden crash, the entire castle shaking with a tectonic disruption of mass so abrupt and forceful it was staggering. Several stout Arusians toppled over all around them, some falling to their feet as the castleship shook, lights swelling with a sudden course of quintessence so bright it was blinding, and the sensation of such sudden _power_ ripping through the air reminded the Altean Princess of the feeling of trying to force open a wormhole into the universe; using alchemy and channeled quintessence to tear apart matter and the delicate threads of space-time with nothing but focus, alchemy, and a healthy dose of grit.

However, unlike opening a wormhole, the surge lacked direction; there was no singular path to which the light and sound moved, simply _out_ and _away_ from a central source. An implosion of energy rather than the distortion of the greater flow of all matter, the rumbling was over almost as quickly as it had begun, people screaming and fleeing the castle in droves, rubble falling from the ceiling, dust kicking up in the surrounding air.

Ears ringing, Pidge forgot her nunvil in an attempt to shield her eyes from the brightness, a cacophony of sounds and sights moving too quickly for her to make sense of up from down – people were moving all around her, voices shouting, rocks falling in her hair and catching on her heels. What the fuck was happening?!

 _Princess!_ she shouted the word, but no sound came out, and Pidge grabbed the Altean’s elbow to help steady her while Arusians flooded out around them, the shaking subsiding but Pidge’s hearing still not returning right away. The Altean’s eyes, soulfire blue and shining through the dust, were sharp when they blinked and fixed to Pidge’s face.

“-dge. Pidge!” Allura said, gripping the human’s upper arm with her other hand, the pair looking around, studying the din and trying to make sense of a darkened castle hall. Shiro and Keith were nearby, the two trying to step around the Arusians or help anyone who had fallen over, neither of them apparently injured.

“Princess!” shouted the Black Paladin. “What was that? What’s happened?”

“Are we being attacked?” Keith added sharply, eyes faintly aglow in the dim lighting. “Should we get to our Lions?”

“N-No,” the Altean shook her head, running a hand over her straining eyes. The light had struck her directly, and spots blotted her vision. “No, this sort of power loss is not normal for the castle. An external assault would not have caused this. Something must have happened to the systems that power the castle – let’s go to the bridge, Lance and Coran are already probably on their way there to see what’s happening.”

 

* * *

 

The idea of Hunk hiding in the kitchen to deal with his own anxieties made the Prince’s heart hurt, and so Lance made it his mission to drag the Yellow Paladin out to the party – by force, if he must. However, easily distracted as Lance was known to be, he stopped by the bridge when he passed by and heard the sound of of muted _tap-taps_ , the distinct sound of fingers moving over a panel or some sort of screen or dashboard.

The only person who would be in here is the only one more addicted to working than his sister... sighing, the Prince straightened his cape and posture, forcing his expression to neutral before walking in.

“Coran, what are you doing?” Lance asked, spotting the advisor at the front controls, stepping up and past the spot from which he piloted.

The advisor kept his back to the Prince, but did leap slightly in place. He didn’t respond for several seconds. “Apologies, your Highness. I was just feeling a bit… hmm. Nostalgic. I wanted a moment away from the party.”

There was a distinct sadness to his voice that twisted in Lance’s stomach like a knife, tip laden with poison.

Approaching slowly, Lance glanced at the screen Coran had been using, what little wind he had remaining effectively knocked from him – it was a picture of _them._

All of them, that is.

Lance didn’t remember that picture being taken – how could he, being all of one quintant old? – but he was in the very center of it. His hair was almost _painfully_ white, sticking up in tiny tufts, and Allura was holding him in her lap while sporting the biggest grin on her face, one tooth missing. They were sitting on the bed in Allura’s bedroom, decorated in the style she’d preferred  when she was a child, and Mother was seated to their left. Father stood behind them, looking at her, grimacing and grinning at the same time, a hilarious mixture of trying-not-to-cry, and Mother was looking back at him with all the joy in the world in her smile. Seated to Allura’s right was Tiegel, a hand on the Princess’s back as the former paladin beamed down at him. Gyrgan was behind them both, arm swung over the King’s shoulder who didn’t even seem to notice. Next to them, standing, was Zarkon and Honerva, a wide-eyed Prince Lotor looking over at Allura as he was nestled in his mother’s grip. Zarkon was smiling, which in itself was strange, and Honerva looked like she was trying not to cry happy tears.

On the other side of the photo, behind Mother, Coran and Blaytz posed hilariously, back-to-back with fingers pointed up into fake guns like some sort of badass secret agents. The difference in their height only served to make it that much more dorky, as Blaytz was almost cut out of the frame.

“It’s been – it’s been a long time.” Coran’s voice cracked, and Lance felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest when he realized why.

 _Tears_.

Coran had been crying.

Lance had never seen Coran _genuinely_ cry, not once, not in the fifteen quintant since this very same photo was taken. He’d teared up before, but always in moments of joy or pride – never before from sadness. The fact that the advisor _didn’t_ cry was so unusual that he and Allura had even talked about it before.

“It really has been, hasn’t it?” Lance echoed, voice quiet. “Mom looks really pretty in this. Especially since Father looks so…”

“Constipated.” Coran supplied, and Lance barked an abrupt laugh.

“Yeah.” Lance chuckled through the syllables. “What made you think of this? I can’t remember it.”

“Oh, just, you and your sister. You’ve both grown so… Your parents would be very proud, you know.”

Lance’s throat felt tight as he examined the picture again. His own cheek marks fluttered, emotional – Allura looked more and more like their mother everyday, but she had Father’s blue-lavender eyes. Lance looked like a mixture of them both, but with Mother’s eyes and Father’s scales.

“Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like they’re gone,” Lance confessed quietly. “Like they’re just gone on some diplomacy trip and that this is just a bizarre summer we’re spending off-planet. It doesn’t feel… real, sometimes.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Coran agreed, a smile edging into his voice.

“I was actually going to try to take a picture of you all tonight for my own sake – memory isn’t quite what it was used to be, you know.”

“Oh. That’s a good idea, actually. I think Rover can take pictures, he _was_ supposed to be a security camera of sorts before Pidge snatched him. We should see if Pidge can get it to take a picture for us.”

Coran twisted his moustache thoughtfully, gazing at the photo for a long pause.

Eventually, he turned off the display and smiled. “That does sound like a good idea, although I think we should have the little robot in the photo, too. Pidge has grown rather fond of it, so it’s almost like a part of the team, don’t you think?”

“Fair enough, fair enough. I know there’s a way to set these screens to automatically capture images…” Lance pulled a smaller screen forward, holding it in one hand and walking towards the bridge doors with a concentrated frown on his face.

A little melody of beeps greeted him as he and Coran exited the bridge, Lance absently fiddling with the display before glancing up and around.

“Wait, Rover?” he blinked, confused as he looked back and forth. “Where’s Pidge?”

Lance barely had a time to catch his breath before the outer casing of the floating robot changed, the panel backlights shifting from soft blue to alarming red, flickering wildly in a succession of erratic beeps. In all of the tricks Pidge had been teaching the little robot to do, he’d never seen it do _that_ before.

In fact, it sort of reminded him of...

_“Oh no.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Where are they? _Lance_? _Coran?_ ” Allura coughed through some of the swirling dust, coming upon the open bridge doors, and what appeared to be the epicenter of the blast. The Princess covered her eyes from the dust as the other paladins slowly followed after her, with the exception of Keith, who seemed to have no issue traversing the darkness.

“Did something happen to…? _The Crystal!_ ” She cried, running forward when she squinted up at the ceiling, her heart dropping into her stomach at the sight. Darkened, yielding no light and energy of any sort, the crystal which had been the source of power in the castle for hundreds of years was reduced to splintered chunks of debris, large slabs of the glittering surface fractured and strewn all around the main control area.

“Wait, is that –?” Keith began, tone somewhere between shock and horror, and the Princess felt like her lungs were about to give out.

On the ground, she’d failed to notice two bodies.

The one nearer coughed as Keith shot forward and began to help him steady.

 _Coran_.

The advisor held his head, which was bleeding freely on one side, with a hand as he accepted Keith’s help in standing. “W-What happened? Where’s –”

The Princess didn’t hear the rest of whatever the advisor said, her eyes fixated to the second body on the ground. Her mouth moved, though she couldn’t remember what she might have said.

Later, the paladins would ask her if she remembered any of what happened. They would tell her she went into shock, but Allura didn’t remember any of it.

She didn’t remember her legs moving or crossing the room or sinking to her knees, didn’t remember reaching out with shaking hands, could focus on little else besides her heart slamming into her ribs.

Because in that moment, the crystal was gone, the control room fell away, the paladins forgotten.

Because in that moment, Princess Allura wasn’t twenty, wasn’t a paladin, wasn’t even yet a sister.

Princess Allura was four decaphoebs old.

_“Mother, what’s wrong?” Allura took a few steps into her parent’s bedchamber despite Coran’s insistence she stay back for the time being. The Princess knew the halls well, however, and had no issue sneaking away from Coran for a moment when his back was turned, and a moment was all she needed._

_“Mother… are you sick?”_

_“Honey, no. No, I’m fine.” The woman smiled and called her closer to the bed, and Allura immediately crawled into her arms and snuggled into the warm crook of her side as an arm came to rest behind her._

_“B-But you were throwing up and missed breakfast and dinner last night. Is something wrong with your tummy?”_

_The woman hummed, a quiet little lullaby, one Allura knew well. The nannies would sing it to her most nights when she had trouble sleeping._

_“No, nothing is wrong with my tummy. You could even say the opposite, in a sense.” She smiled warmly, resting a hand over the curve of her nightgown beneath her solar plexus. “The King wanted to be here when we told you, but you’re going to be a big sister, Allura.”_

_“What...?” She blinked, watching her mother’s hand movement, the words making sense individually but not adding up to a coherent line of thought when strung together. “I’m having a baby?”_

_The woman laughed and poked her sides, causing a song of giggles to bubble up her throat. “No, silly child. I’m having a baby, and you’re going to be the big sister to the next Prince of Altea.”_

_“Prince…” Allura blinked, eyes widened as she looked doubtfully at her mother’s stomach. “So it’s a boy? Like Prince Lotor?”_

_“That’s what the doctor said today, yes. A boy.”_

_“Wow. A boy.” She thought for a moment. “Do you think he’ll like roasted nuuskob?”_

_“I don’t know, you’ll have to wait until he’s ready to come out. Then you can get him to try it.”_

_“Cool! And I bet he’ll have blue scales like Father! I hope he doesn’t grow a scratchy beard though, yuck.”_

_The Queen chuckled, snuggling the Princess a little closer. “Heh. If he’s born with a beard, I promise we can shave it right off.”_

_“Yes!” Allura cheered. “I love him already.”_

_“...Me too.”_

_The girls sat together for awhile longer, discussing all the things they imagined the Prince might be like, if he would be tall or if he’d like mufflopods better than unizorns or what day his birthday might fall around. Queen Melenor said it would be in the summertime._

_It wasn’t until another thirty dobosh passed that a very frazzled-looking Coran peaked his head into the chamber, spotting the queen and her daughter cuddled up by the headboard, whispering quietly._

_“Your Majesty, my apologies... I know you were looking to rest but —“_

_“Coran!!_ _” Allura sat up, practically rocketing from the mattress and into his waiting arms the moment he was in range. “I’m gonna be a big sister! He’s probably going to have blue eye scales like Father and he probably won’t like fuzzlopods because I don’t like fuzzlopods and I bet he’ll have white hair like all of us and —_

_“W-What?” Coran gaped at her, and then the Queen who buried her face in her hands, failing to hide her laughter._

_“Yes,” she confirmed her daughter’s incessant gossip. “Al and I are having a boy. A son.”_

_“A s-son? That means... Altea’s next Prince…” Coran’s lower lip quivered, and Allura watched him dot the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief. “Have you decided on a name?”_

_“Not yet. Perhaps something that starts with M, since there’s Alfor and Allura. I feel like an M might suit him.”_

_“Oh, but Mother,” the little Princess bounced with enthusiasm, “we could name him after anything! Something cool, like — like Axe! Or... Plasma Blaster!_ Voltron _!!”_

 _“We are_ not _naming your baby brother_ Voltron _. Oriande knows I hear that name enough around here.”_

_Coran laughed, though Allura looked petulant and grumpy for having her creative selection of names so quickly shut down._

_“What about a family name?” the advisor suggested. “Perhaps you could name him after your father, or the former King?”_

_“Vance or Leo?” Melenor hummed. “Those could be nice.”_

_Squirming in the advisor’s grip, Allura shot Coran her most serious I-mean-business look. “Oh! Oh oh oh! I’ve got it. Coran, down, please.”_

_The advisor did as the Princess bid, settling her down onto the bed where she immediately climbed to two feet, hands proudly situated on her hips._

_“Like Voltron, take the pieces and stick em together... Boom! He will be Lance!”_

_Coran raised a brow. It wasn’t a name he’d heard before on Altea or otherwise, for that matter._

_“Lance?”_

“Prince Lance of Altea...” _Queen Melenor mused, a fond, soft smile settling on her features. Resting a hand over her stomach, gazing out one of the towering windows of the royal bedchamber, a soft pink pulse fluttered in her eye scales._

_“I like it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also a huge special thanks to my dear friend in the SU fandom [e350tb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E350tb/pseuds/E350tb) for helping proof-read and act as a springboard for my millions of ideas and struggle to figure ANYTHING out on my own!!!! please check out their stuff if you like SU, I promise you won't be disappointed!


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